On Olympus.
R
Robert Crawford
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The high noises,
The great voices,
They of the sky
In the clouds wrangle,
Jar it and jangle
Till Death shall die.
In the bright houses
With their false spouses
The high ones rave —
Gods in a passion,
As those in their fashion
Who go to the grave.
Out of the portal
Where never a mortal
Has climbed or been,
Their insane thunder
Comes to us under
The holy demesne.
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