As Pallas sprang from the head of Zeus,
Divine in her splendid mail,
I leapt full-armed from the Sun-god's brow
And rode on the roaring gale.
A thousand leagues to the east we fled,
While heaven and earth and sea
Arose to the tread of my mighty feet
In terrible symphony.
I sang of wars in the dawn of time,
Of worlds in the outer night,
I stabbed the dark with my two-edged sword,
And struck in a burst of light.
The great ship drove on the rocks aflame,
A towering funeral pyre,
While I swooped down on the chattered coast
And tortured the land with fire.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
But lo! the heart of the mystic east
Is drawing the veil away,
I weaken, bound in a drowsy charm,
The spell of another day.
My father comes; with a slower pace,
I languidly seek my rest.
And deep in the poppied warmth I sink
Asleep on the Sun-god's breast.