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A Reading of Life, Other Poems eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 44 pages of information about A Reading of Life, Other Poems.

- Oft has your prophet, for reward of toil,
Seen nests of seeming cockatrices coil: 
Disowned them as the unholiest of Time,
Which were his offspring, born of flame on slime. 
Nor him, their sire, have known the filial fry: 
As little as Time’s earliest knew the sky. 
Perchance among them shoots a lustrous flame
At intervals, in proof of whom they came. 
To strengthen our foundations is the task
Of this tough Age; not in your beams to bask,
Though, lighted by your beams, down mining caves
The rock it blasts, the hoarded foulness braves. 
My sister sees no round beyond her mood;
To hawk this Age has dressed her head in hood. 
Out of the course of ancient ruts and grooves,
It moves:  O much for me to say it moves! 
About his AEthiop Highlands Nile is Nile,
Though not the stream of the paternal smile: 
And where his tide of nourishment he drives,
An Abyssinian wantonness revives. 
Calm as his lotus-leaf to-day he swims;
He is the yellow crops, the rounded limbs,
The Past yet flowing, the fair time that fills;
Breath of all mouths and grist of many mills.

To-morrow, warning none with tempest-showers,
He is the vast Insensate who devours
His golden promise over leagues of seed,
Then sits in a smooth lake upon the deed. 
The races which on barbarous force begin,
Inherit onward of their origin,
And cancelled blessings will the current length
Reveal till they know need of shaping strength. 
’Tis not in men to recognize the need
Before they clash in hosts, in hosts they bleed. 
Then may sharp suffering their nature grind;
Of rabble passions grow the chieftain Mind. 
Yet mark where still broad Nile boasts thousands fed,
For tens up the safe mountains at his head. 
Few would be fed, not far his course prolong,
Save for the troublous blood which makes him strong.

- That rings of truth!  More do your people thrive;
Your Many are more merrily alive
Than erewhile when I gloried in the page
Of radiant singer and anointed sage. 
Greece was my lamp:  burnt out for lack of oil;
Rome, Python Rome, prey of its robber spoil! 
All structures built upon a narrow space
Must fall, from having not your hosts for base. 
O thrice must one be you, to see them shift
Along their desert flats, here dash, there drift;
With faith, that of privations and spilt blood,
Comes Reason armed to clear or bank the flood! 
And thrice must one be you, to wait release
From duress in the swamp of their increase. 
At which oppressive scene, beyond arrest,
A darkness not with stars of heaven dressed,
Philosophers behold; desponding view. 
Your Many nourished, starved my brilliant few;
Then flinging heels, as charioteers the reins,
Dive down the fumy AEtna of their brains. 
Belated vessels on a rising sea,
They seem:  they pass!

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