Classic Poem

A god is dying, O bewildered ones,
A greybeard god whose zealous warriors
Have cowed the dismal world with bellowing guns
Until our sky like some vast conch-shell roars.
A god is perishing with glut of praise
From hypocrites whose tawney talons gleam
With secret gold which Judas-bright betrays
Sad barter of the birthright of their dream.

Let trumpets burn with turbulence of morn—
While Jericho cracks down its home of glass.
A god is dying and a man is born:
Let Mars and all his mangled mourners pass. . . .
Here raise the sepulcher of creeds and kings
Where peace, the Phoenix, lifts his golden wings!