Sir T. With wars, with woes? You think the change will be
A long elaborate travail?
St. J. I cannot tell.
Sir T. But God and Sin and Heaven and Hell that are not
Are yet the very texture of the world.
St. J. Kings, magistracies, warriors, learning, love
Being knit in Heaven and Hell, in God and Sin,
Like blood, nerve, sinew, bone in living flesh,
It may be that the change will come about
As human bodies alter in seven years time——
Sir T. In seven years' time!
St. J. No, no; no prophecy!
I mean the change may be a growth unfelt,
Or else the whole world may collapse at once,
(The rotten flesh unable to sustain
The bones, enmesh the nerves, confine the blood)
And cease to be—ashamed to be
Less than immortal and the special care
Of God, Omnipotent, Omniscient; God,
Lover, avenger, maker and destroyer.
Sir T. No! man is greater than to make an end
Because his God forsook him.
St. J. I think so, too;
And in my heart believe terrific war
Will burst the chrysalis, the Christendom
That hangs in rags about the eager soul,
Already winged and rich with crimson stains,
With sulphur plumes and violet, green and gold,
Psyche at last, pure Matter of itself.
Sir T. Psyche? Imagination.
St. J. It was my word:
Imagination be it!