When one of them moved through the marketplace of Selefkia <br />just as it was getting dark— <br />moved like a young man, tall, extremely handsome, <br />with the joy of being immortal in his eyes, <br />with his black and perfumed hair— <br />the people going by would gaze at him, <br />and one would ask the other if he knew him, <br />if he was a Greek from Syria, or a stranger. <br />But some who looked more carefully <br />would understand and step aside; <br />and as he disappeared under the arcades, <br />among the shadows and the evening lights, <br />going toward the quarter that lives <br />only at night, with orgies and debauchery, <br />with every kind of intoxication and desire, <br />they would wonder which of Them it could be, <br />and for what suspicious pleasure <br />he had come down into the streets of Selefkia <br />from the August Celestial Mansions.<br /><br />Constantine P. Cavafy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-of-their-gods-2/
