Classic Poem

There is no Hell; there is no Heaven;
Our bodies on the winds of chance are blown;
Our spirits for the pre-ordained have striven,
With neither wills nor passions of our own;
All that we give, to us was ever given;
The seeds of all our sins in us were sown;
Poor, futile fools, by fate and folly driven;
Poor, sinless sinners, fettered flesh and bone,
And soul, by fetters never to be riven,
Saving by Death alone.

Poor, fragile bodies, fashioned in the fire
That smouldered in the ashes of a star;
Poor, fickle spirits, duped by a desire
For phantoms very high and very far.
Poor souls and bodies taken from the mire,
Still does the mire your ecstasies debar.
Poor little beasts, who think each new attire,
Scales, fur, or sackcloth, is an Avatar.
Behold, the burning cosmos is a pyre,
And you its fuel are!

Did not the forest know us as an ape
That gibbered in a Mesozoic tree?
Did not our fishy maw and nostrils gape,
Gobbling a worm in the old Tethys Sea?
Altho' a thousand times we change our shape,
Altho' a thousand times we change our shape,
Altho' a million years our Past we flee,
Still from the beast in us is no escape
Still are we captive to our ancestry;
Still we must hunt, and kill, and rob, and rape,
Till Death do set us free.

O unknown God of darkness and of flame,
We heard Thy Summons, and our souls obeyed.
From seed, and cell, and reptile, slowly came;
Climbing from form to form, from grade to grade,
Through centuries of exultation, shame,
Defeat and aspiration, sunlight, shade,
Fighting for love, fighting for food and fame,
Becoming Men. And yet we wither and fade
And die, not knowing what should be our aim,
Or wherefore we were made.

We came into the light with pain and woe;
Death crooned a dirge beside our natal bed;
Yet Life was strong; it would not let us go;
It filled our veins with blood alive and red.
We felt it leap, we felt it throb and flow—
Like living flame along our limbs it sped;
And we were young and proud, and did not know
The shadow of despair, the name of dread;
'Twas ours to fling the seed, to plough and sow,
To sing, to fight, to wed.

Life seemed so good—body, and soul, and mind,
Love, battle, beauty, all were passing fair.
There was a sound of music in the wind,
Rumour of roses in the summer air.
Men spoke of death, but we were blind, blind;
They talked of sorrow, but we did not care.
The sun shone on the earth, the gods were kind,
And there were dreams and visions everywhere;
How could we guess that lurking black behind
Were Death, Defeat, Despair?