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 grey tattered skies they strain and reel there:
Yet cannot all disguise
The majesty and beauty of the fallen gods, the beauty,
The fire beneath their eyes.
They huddle at night within low, clay-built cabins;
And, to themselves unknown,
They carry with them diadem and scepter
And move from throne to throne.
—A.E., “Exiles”
…These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
An undiscovered planet in our sky.
And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—
So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
—HENRYWADSWORTHLONGFELLOW,“Haunted Houses”