Classic Poem

The poet, exquisite and pale
Weighed the seven heavens in a scale,
The streaming seraphs hooked and dived
And pinned their plumage side by side
Knocked down like toys the eternal towers,
And plucked the stars like pretty flowers
And cried, before the fearful Face,
“I fear you not; my mortal race
Begot you; and, a man like me,
You dreamed a dream in Galilee—
You that were God: What are you now?”
The insulted reared his thunderous brow
And said at last, “Thou sayest true,
I was a man. But what are you?”