Phoebus Apollo
The spell of thy liquid music, once heard in the speeding
year : These are the things, Great Archer, that we yearn to see
and hear, For beside thy creed untarnished all others are stale and
vain! Hear us, Phoebus Apollo, and come to thine own again !
Monarch of light and laughter, honor, and trust, and truth, God of all inspiration, King of eternal youth, Whose words are fitted to music as jewels are set in gold, There is need of thy splendid worship in a world grown grim
and old ! We have drunk the wine of the ages, we are come to the
dregs and lees, And the shrines are all unworthy where we bend reluctant
knees ;
The brand of the beast is on us, we grovel, and grope, and err, Wake, Great god of the Morning, the moment has come to
stir!
The stars of our night of evil on a wan horizon wane : Hear us, Phoebus Apollo, and come to thine own again ! ROME, 1900.
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