The Ancient Gods

Still, where the birches fingered their reflection,

The thrushes chanted to the evening sky;

Still the grey wagtails raced across the shingle

As they went by.

Beyond the furthest of the saffron shallows

I lost them in the larches' rainy green,

And only saw the stretches of marsh-mallows

Where they had been.

You say the sallow and the birch deceived me:

But I know well that I beheld to-day

The ancient gods, unheralded, majestic,

Upon their way.