Publisher's Synopsis
The cave they slept in, halfway down OlympusOn the eastern slope, toward Asia, whence the archangelsEven then were coming-even thenBright Michael, and tall Gabriel, and the dark-facedRaphael, healer of men's wounds, were flying, Flying toward the ship all ten would take-The cave they slept in sparkled as their eyelidsOpened; burned as they rose and stood; hummedAnd trembled as the seven, the beautiful godsGazed at each other, wonderful again.The sweet sleep of centuries was over, If only as in dream; if only a mortalSummer woke them out of endless deat
