Classic Poem

PROLOGUE

If by decay from God (we ask'd)
and sovranty still more forgot
or as a fire and burning mask'd
in time, and time perceiv'd it not,

this world arose, or Edom yet
warring thro' all the ages long
for Him, the truce and Sabbath set:
this was our business. We were wrong. —

Our sloth, our sloth alone hath bound
in reason'd links the worlds that glance
and vanish, as new dreams abound
each moment in the eternal trance;

the dreams who are we, ages of men,
and the thought wherein we thrive or ail,
and, passing out thro' us again,
this world, our fair demesne or gaol.

Yet, since each moments' dream for us
unfolds to an age of tardy earth
and time enspheres it, fabulous,
in bubble-glints and tales of birth;

and none will chide whiche'er we assume,
for none is false and none is true,
and that first thought which was our doom
is broken into their shifting hue:

therefore, lest Eden suffer shame,
the thought gladdens me that our world
(so plain the spirit's oblivion) came
of senseless dust conflicting whirl'd.

or clinging, not thro' love, but just
thro' that which later was in man
a greed to clutch the paltry dust
and grasp the tribes in iron ban.

— since that was fable, how these hordes
of paynim slaves that rage and chafe
were number'd by the angel-swords. —
Dream then of Eden: she is safe.