Among high gods the absolute ironist
Is Love. Therefore, when some cleft lightning mocks
Thine arrogant rapture, sad idealist,
Admire the wild play of his paradox.
Great satires of reversal have astounded
His bigots: proud fine dreamers confident
Before an idol in their image are hounded
Through comedies of disillusionment.
Not heavenly Plato, not the Florentine,
Not any mage of Epipsychidion
Can the true nature of the god divine.
Heresiarchs like Heine and like Donne,
Bitter and sweet, and hot and cold, know best
The incomparable anguish of his jest.