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.