The cave they slept in, halfway down Olympus On the eastern slope, toward Asia, whence the archangels Even then were coming--even then Bright Michael, and tall Gabriel, and the dark-faced Raphael, healer of men’s wounds, were flying, Flying toward the ship all ten would take-- The cave they slept in sparkled as their eyelids Opened; burned as they rose and stood; hummed And trembled as the seven, the beautiful gods Gazed at each other, wonderful again. The sweet sleep of centuries was over, If only as in dream; if only a mortal Summer woke them out of endless death. The grey eyes of Athene, flashing slowly, Demanded of Hermes more than he could tell.…
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