IDOLS.
How weak the gods of this world are—
And weaker yet their worship made me!
I have been an idolater
Of three—and three times they betray'd me.
Mine oldest worshipping was given
To natural Beauty, aye residing
In bowery earth and starry heav'n,
In ebbing sea, and river gliding.
But natural Beauty shuts her bosom
To what the natural feelings tell!
Albeit I sigh'd, the trees would blossom—
Albeit I smiled, the blossoms fell.
