Religion.
FROM that crude savage who, on Libyan sands,
Graves his barbaric god, and kneels thereto;
From those mysterious, matriarchal bands,
Eating strange flesh their spirit to renew
With fabled ancestors; from Austral lands
To Hyperborean solitudes, each age
Hath sought to fend its head from God’s dull rage
And stay the cosmic circling with clasped hands.
Yea, we no less! Doth man dare look away
Bravely as fits a man? With fear-sealed eyes,
Filling the spheres with vast, vague mysteries,
Man still must hearken some great angel’s wing,
Still bow to man-made God, still seek to stay
With claspèd hands the cosmic circling...