The Old Gods

Old gods are dead; their broken shrines are lying Profaned with blood and trampled to the ground; I see lost beauty with each sunset dying, I hear lost music in each echoing sound. Old gods are dead; triumphant stands the scoffer Beside old altars where our offerings lay,-- False gods perhaps,--but what have you to offer Who batter down old temples in a day? Old gods are dead; but still the sunset lingers, The moonlight still its store of treasure yields, Dawn touches darkness with its magic fingers, And bluebirds wing their flight across green fields, The sea-tides ebb and flow, stars shine above, And human hearts still long for human love.