Because we smashed their statues,
because we threw them out of their temples,
in no way means their gods are dead.
O Ionian land, the gods still love you,
their souls still remember you.
When an August morning dawns over you,
an energy from the gods’ lives crosses through your atmosphere;
and sometimes an ethereal adolescent form,
indistinct, with a quick stride,
crosses above your hills.

— constantine p. cavafy (trans. aliki barnstone)

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