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On tiptoe, smiling welcome. Aphrodite,

Slipping to lee of Ares, feigned a fear

More beautiful than truth was; while Hephaestus,

Curious, near-sighted, fingered those wing-joints

Athene only studied where she stood.

“Whoever you are,” said Hermes, “and whatever—

Pardon this—you were, sail now as we do,

And be the gods of strangers far to west.

If only as in dream the vessel draws us,

Zeus our sire consenting. Your own sire—”

But the three stared so sadly over the waves

That Hermes paused, and beckoning to Gabriel

Whispered with him alone while dolphins played

As lambs do on dry land, and fishes scattered.

Alone to Hermes, while the dolphins heaved

Grey backs above green water, Gabriel murmured:

“Your sire. We had one too. And have Him still,

Though silent. It is listening for his thunder

That leans us. He is busy with new folk,

New, humble folk he speaks to in a low voice.

We have not learned that language—humble words,

With never death or danger in the message.

A star stood still above a stable once,