no more:

There is a higher purity than thou, And higher purity is greater strength; Thy nature is thy doom, at which thy heart Trembles behind the thick wall of thy might. Let man but hope, and thou art straightway chilled

With thought of that drear silence and deep night

Which, like a dream, shall swallow thee and thine :

Let man but will, and thou art god no more,

More capable of ruin than the gold And ivory that image thee on earth. Ile who hurled down the monstrous Titan-brood

Blinded with lightnings, with rough thunders stunned,

Is weaker than a simple human thought. My slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze,

That seems but apt to stir a maiden's hair,

Sways huge Oceanus from pole to pole: For I am still Prometheus, and foreknow

In my wise heart the end and doom of all.