large/803/time_and_gods_librivox_64kb_mp3/timeandthegods_16_dunsany_64kb_9
large/803/time_and_gods_librivox_64kb_mp3/timeandthegods_16_dunsany_64kb
English
803
Only the gods of my childhood dead, and only Time striding large and lonely through the spaces, chilling the moon and paling the light of stars and scattering earthward out of both his hands the dust of forgetfulness over the fields of heroes and smitten Temples of the older gods." ONLY THE GODS OF MY CHILDHOOD DEAD ONLY TIME STRIDING LARGE AND LONELY THROUGH THE SPACES CHILLING THE MOON AND PALING THE LIGHT OF STARS AND SCATTERING EARTHWARD OUT OF BOTH HIS HANDS THE DUST OF FORGETFULNESS OVER THE FIELDS OF HEROES AND SMITTEN TEMPLES OF THE OLDER GODS
he wherefore of much. I had hoped, O prophet, that those gods that had smiled upon my childhood, Whose voices stirred at evening in gardens when I was young, would hold dominion still when at last I came to seek Them. O prophet, if this is not to be, make you a great dirge for my childhood’s gods and fashion silver bells and, setting them mostly a-swing amidst such trees as grew in the garden of my childhood, sing you this dirge in the dusk: and sing it when the low moth flies up and down and the bat first comes peering from her home, sing it when white mists come rising from the river, when smoke is pale and grey, while flowers are yet closing, ere voices are yet hushed, sing it while all things yet lament the day, or ever the great lights of heaven come blazing forth and night with her splendours takes the place of day. For, if the old gods die, let us lament Them or ever new knowledge comes, while all the world still shudders at Their loss. “For at the last, O prophet, what is left? Y THINGS AND WOULD KNOW THE WHEREFORE OF MUCH I HAD HOPED O PROPHET THAT THOSE GODS THAT HAD SMILED UPON MY CHILDHOOD WHOSE VOICES STIRRED AT EVENING IN GARDENS WHEN I WAS YOUNG WOULD HOLD DOMINION STILL WHEN AT LAST I CAME TO SEEK THEM O PROPHET IF THIS IS NOT TO BE MAKE YOU A GREAT DIRGE FOR MY CHILDHOOD'S GODS AND FASHION SILVER BELLS AND SETTING THEM MOSTLY A SWING AMIDST SUCH TREES AS GREW IN THE GARDEN OF MY CHILDHOOD SING YOU THIS DIRGE IN THE DUSK AND SING IT WHEN THE LOW MOTH FLIES UP AND DOWN AND THE BAT FIRST COMES PEERING FROM HER HOME SING IT WHEN WHITE MISTS COME RISING FROM THE RIVER WHEN SMOKE IS PALE AND GREY WHILE FLOWERS ARE YET CLOSING YOUR VOICES ARE YET HUSHED SING IT WHILE ALL THINGS YET LAMENT THE DAY OR EVER THE GREAT LIGHTS OF HEAVEN COME BLAZING FORTH AND NIGHT WITH HER SPLENDOURS TAKES THE PLACE OF DAY FOR IF THE OLD GODS DIE LET US LAMENT THEM OR EVER NEW KNOWLEDGE COMES WHILE ALL THE WORLD STILL SHUDDERS AT THEIR LOSS FOR AT THE LAST O PROPHET WHAT IS LEFT
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