II
"Mine, mine!" saith Love, "Although ye serve no more
Mine images of ivory and bronze
With flute-led dances of the days of yore,
But leave them to barbarian orisons
Of dull hearth-loving hearts, mistaking me:
Yet from mine incense ye shall not divorce
Remembrance. Fools, these recantations be
Ardours that prove you still idolators;
And, though ye hurry through the circling hells
Of bright ambition like hopes and energies,
That haste bewrays you. My great doctrine dwells
Immortal in those fevered heresies,
And all the inversions of my rites proclaim
The mournful memory of mine altar-flame."