POETRY
PAESTUM
VESTIGE of long decay Proudly these pillars wear ; Sailors no longer pray Neptune their keel to bear Over the waves to Athens or Corinth sailing away.
Snapdragon springs from the wall, Out of the cornice a fern ; Hurrying sea-gulls call, Inland the sea-winds turn, Tear at the weeds and through the roofless temple mourn.
Still the blue water before, Unchanging hills behind ; But, sea-drift left on the shore Out of the ocean of mind, Neptune's temple looms from a dream we dream no more.
Women are bowed afield, But not in Demeter's corn, And herds their fatlings yield, But not to Pan are they born, Sails go tilting afar ; the temple stands forlorn.
A mower mows in the fen, An anvil tinkles on, Forging a scythe . . . but then, After the gods are gone, Anvil and scythe remain to the toiling race of men.
W. Foam STEAD.
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