If Life rekindles it, and if the rhymes
Bear Beauty as their eloquent refrain,
Though it were sung a thousand times,
Sing it again!
Thrill us with song—let others preach or rage;
Make us so thirst for Beauty that we cease
These struggles, and this strident age
Grows sweet with peace.
THE HERETIC
I.
BLASPHEMY
I do not envy God—
There is no thing in all the skies or under
To startle and awaken Him to wonder;
No marvel can appear
To stir His placid soul with terrible thunder—
He was not born with awe nor blessed with fear.
I do not envy God—
He is not burned with Spring and April madness;
The rush of Life—its rash, impetuous gladness
He cannot hope to know.
He cannot feel the fever and the sadness
The leaping fire, the insupportable glow.
I do not envy God—
Forever He must watch the planets crawling
To flaming goals where sun and star are falling;
He cannot wander free.
For He must face, through centuries appalling,
A vast and infinite monotony.
I do not envy God—
He cannot die, He dare not even slumber.
Though He be God and free from care and cumber,
I would not share His place;
For He must live when years have lost their number
And Time sinks crumbling into shattered Space.