THE Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary's Son is King.
And yet--perchance in this sea-trancèd isle,
Chewing the bitter fruit of memory,
Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.
Ah Love! if such there be then it were well
For us to fly his anger: nay, but see
The leaves are stirring: let us watch a-while.
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Comments1Just read this poem and honestly it's pretty deep. Talks about how the old gods are dead and now we follow a new one, a lot like how we evolve our faiths over time. Maybe its saying that everything changes, nothing lasts forever. Bit hard to fully get it but the essence of change and adaptation is palpable. Makes me think that perhaps it implies a hidden force within the changes we fail to see. Raises a lot of thoughts, definitely makes you wonder. Really good stuff, loved the read.