The wide, bright temple of the world I found, And entered from the dizzy infinite That I might kneel and worship thee in it； Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round Of silver music sound on orbed sound, For measured spaces where the shrines¹ are lit, And men with wisdom or with little wit Implore² the gods that mercy may abound³. Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee My summons came across the endless spaces？ Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me Now that I seek for thee in human faces； Answer my prayer or set my spirit free Again to drift along the starry⁴ places.