Classic Poem

From the first slime I brought forth slimy things, all mouth and maw,
From jungle and marsh sinister things,
Poison of fang and cruel of claw.
I spawned on the air stinging winging things with beaks that tear.
And invisible hordes of germs that scatter pestilence everywhere.

And then I spawned Man, and made him the Lord of these and master.
In him I put cunning and strength,
Which push his fierce flesh to disaster;
In him a heart to forge, out of his fever, hate, or hunger,
Engines of deadly intent to fight for him, the war-monger.

O, I am vile, a harlot issuing ill to the universe;
And half my highest offspring still
Are only beasts that breed worse.
Why do the rest believe then, after ages of savage gloom,
That God can breathe His Soul through me — and change the fruit of my womb?

Is it because of my beauty — that has seemed divine so long?
Because I can hush with the hue of a rose
Blood-cry or murder-song?
Because I can say with a sunset what I've called a lie with creatures?
And with my sea's flow, sublime, cleanse my foulest features?

If it be so, let me always find in the fields of space
Beauty and more beauty — drawn
From every blooming star-place.
If it be so, let me be steeped in beauty, until my sod
Knows — not guesses or hopes — that it is fecund with a God.