In Art and Thought, till nought seemed true
But that soul-slaughtering cry of New!
New wreckage of the shrines we made
Thro' centuries of forgotten tears ...
We knew not where their scorn had laid
Our Master. Twice a thousand years
Had dulled the uncapricious Sun.
Manifold worlds obscured the One;
Obscured the reign of Law, our stay,
Our compass through this darking sea,