Only a starveling singer seeks
The stuff of songs among the Greeks.
Juno is old,
Jove's loves are cold,
Tales over-told.
By a new risen Attic stream,
A mortal singer dreamed a dream.
Fixed he not Fancy's habitation,
Nor set in bonds Imagination.
There are new waters, and a new Humanity.
For all old myths give us the dream to be.

We are outwearied with Persephone,
Rather than her, we'll sing Reality.