The many gods have many men to worship now,
And for their joy of this are dancing in our feet.
Our shoulders firm, our heads that do not bow,
Lift to our eyes their praising roses sweet.
Argue they in mutterings what place to rise,
Whose knees to kiss, whose loves to solemnize.
Yea, goddesses, too, love men to worship well,
Perfuming us with sweetest, luscious air,
As our inventions cast on earth their spell
Of grand brand shining newness everywhere.
All the wildflowers shake out laughingly,
For all the gods are happy as can be.
What are these gods, but men of tiny state,
Who worship us because our minds are great.