Know the decree that natures such as mine
Must clasp the World and find her half-divine,
Hyperion-souls which need no anodyne.
Once more, once more ye come, ye lovely shapes,
Voicing the magic “Ye are Gods, not Apes.”
And oh! the Glory over seas and capes.
In memory only!— What that memory gave
Of our young day, so brief and yet so brave,
Will lead us half reluctant to the grave.
Tho’ it existed not — lived never — only came
From some vast depth of dateless woe and shame
Striving to give its high desire a name,
The glory dies not; leaves us tired and still;
We cannot follow, even if we will;
The Afterglow! Ah! there — beyond the hill.