Just because we’ve torn their statues down,

and cast them from their temples,

doesn’t for a moment mean the gods are dead.

Land of Ionia, they love you yet,

their spirits still remember you.

When an August morning breaks upon you

a vigour from their lives stabs through your air;

and sometimes an ethereal and youthful form

in swiftest passage, indistinct,

passes up above your hills.