  Of old men wrought strange gods for mystery, Implored miraculous tokens in the skies, And lips that most were strange in prophecy Were most accounted wise. The hearthstone’s commerce between mate and mate, Barren of wonder, prospered in content, And still the hunger of their thought was great For sweet astonishment. And so they built them altars of retreat Where life’s familiar use was overthrown, And left the shining world about their feet, To travel worlds unknown. . . . . . . . . . . We hunger still. But wonder has come down From alien skies upon the midst of us; The sparkling hedgerow and the clamorous town Have grown miraculous. And man from his far travelling returns To find yet stranger wisdom than he sought, Where in the habit of his threshold burns Unfathomable thought. |
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