Classic Poem

Who is the lover of the world? : him choose
Who sitteth still upon a stone to stare.
Till the brown birds have nested in his hair
And moss and lichen grown upon his shoes.

Like skies and mountains, he abides the same,
In his strange folly, lest a fly be spilled
Only his eyes with slow fire orbed and filled
Spell from a face of night, a heart of flame.

The finches carp at him : a tree too low
The lichens use him for a stone or clod —
Yet still he sitteth — yea, as still as God.
Whom, if He moved and slew us, we should know.

Dark walls with stones like eyes: hunched and bowed,
Daunt not the champion of the flaming heart
Aloft I stand on fiery crags apart
And cry to all the fallen worlds aloud.

In stormy Kiss, darkening the stars, he came
God over chaos, in colossal strife.
In the first twilight traced the globe of life
And with his lips of earthquake, spake thy name.

In hope of thee toiled nature's cycles seven
With every leaf a finger showing thee
And every walking beast a prophecy
And every flying bird a sign in heaven.

Go, snarl and snivel over clay and clod
Curse life and fatten, thou art safe, and own
In sun and rain and fruit in season grown
The shining silence of the scorn of God.