The mighty hopes that make us men.
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room