I LEAN against a pillar in the sun,
The sandals loose on mine arrested feet,
While from their paths orbicular the fleet
Slim racers drop like stars. O loveliest one,
Lender of sixfold wings the while I run,
Whose tortoise-lyre saves yet for me its sweet
Cyllenic suasions old, to thy dim seat
Glory and grace! the votive rites are done.
Thy sole rememberer honey hath, nor palm,
Libation none, nor lamb to lead to thee,
Ah, Maia’s son! once god, and once aye-living.
Here stood thy shrine: here chants my heart in calm
Sad as the centralmost weird wave’s at sea,
Hermes! thy last June pæan and thanksgiving.