I know it to be true that those who live

As do the grasses and the lilies of the field

Receiving joy from Heaven, sweetly yield

Their joy to Earth, and taking Beauty, give.

But we are gathered for the looms of Fate

That Time with ever-turning multiplying wheels

Spins into complex patterns and conceals

His huge invention with forms intricate.

Each generation blindly fills the plan,

A sorry muddle or an inspiration of God

With many processes from out the sod,

The Earth and Heaven are mingled and made man.

We must be tired and sleepless, gaily sad,

Frothing like waves in clamorous confusion,

A chemistry of subtle interfusion,

Experiments of genius that the ignorant call mad.

We spell the crimes of our unruly days,

We see a fabled Arcady in our mind,

We crave perfection that we may not find.

Time laughs within the clock and Destiny plays.

You peasants and you hermits, simple livers!

So picturesquely pure, all unconcerned

While we give up our bodies to be burned,

And dredge for treasure in the muddy rivers.

We drink and die and sell ourselves for power,

We hunt with treacherous steps and stealthy knife,

We make a gaudy havoc of our life

And live a thousand ages in an hour.

Our loves are spoilt by introspective guile,

We vivisect our souls with elaborate tools,

We dance in couples to the tune of fools,

And dream of harassed continents the while.

Subconscious visions hold us and we fashion

Delirious verses, tortured statues, spasms of paint,

Make cryptic perorations of complaint,

Inverted religion, and perverted passion.

But since we are children of this age,

In curious ways discovering salvation,

I will not quit my muddled generation,

But ever plead for Beauty in this rage.

Although I know that Nature's bounty yields

Unto simplicity a beautiful content,

Only when battle breaks me and my strength is spent

Will I give back my body to the fields.