The Last God Poem by Arthur Graeme West

All Gods are dead, even the great God Pan
Is dead at length; the lone inhabitant
Of my ever-dwindling Pantheon. Pan! Pan!
With what persistency I worshipped thee!
I saw a little crumpled clover leaf
Starring the trench side greenly, or I heard
A morning lark, and thou wast at my side
Smoothing thy child’s hair; ’gainst thy curled flank
Pillowing my loving head; when God and Christ
Abandoned me, thy universal temple
Was still my home, and I of all thy flock
Was welcome there; I think that I adored thee
As few have ever done.
My soul this spring
Thrilled with a fuller music to thy touch,
That seemed to me more loving than of old,
When most I needed love. O love, love, love!
Love in the ruins, love in toil and war,
Love in decay of loves, love in death!
I dreamed Love walked with me, Love crowned with life
Of flowers and bird and laughter of clear streams,
And the new springing wheat.
Now art thou changed
To a foul witch; thou are no Circe now,
But Lachesis or Atropos, that whippeth
The tortured trees to anguish, killeth joy
Of bird and leaf and flower. The cynic glance
Sours my old love to hatred; thy caresses
Cause me to shudder; all thy colour, song,
Are crude and heartless. Woo me! Woo me now
As I wooed thee once; but I think that I,
I shall walk on, head high, nor hear thee more.