EXILES

The gods have taken alien shapes upon them
Wild peasants driving swine
In a strange country. Through the swarthy faces
The starry faces shine.

Under the grey tattered skies they strain and reel there:
Yet cannot all disguise
The majesty of fallen gods, the beauty,
The fire beneath their eyes.

They huddle all at night within low clay-built cabins;
And, to themselves unknown,
They carry with them diadem and sceptre
And move from throne to throne.

George Russell (Æ)
(1867-1935)

From the Appletree Press title: A Little Book of Irish Verse .

Also from Appletree:
Appletree Book of Celtic Verse
A Little Book of Scottish Verse
A Little Book of English Verse .