The Stranger at the Gate | ||
II
These were his fields Elysian:
With mystic eyes he saw
The sowers planting vision,
The reapers gleaming awe.
With mystic eyes he saw
The sowers planting vision,
The reapers gleaming awe.
Serfs to a sordid duty,
He saw them with his heart,
Priests of the Ultimate Beauty,
Feeding the flame of art.
He saw them with his heart,
Priests of the Ultimate Beauty,
Feeding the flame of art.
30
The weird, untempled Makers
Pulsed in the things he saw;
The wheat through its virile acres
Billowed the Song of Law.
Pulsed in the things he saw;
The wheat through its virile acres
Billowed the Song of Law.
The epic roll of the furrow
Flung from the writing plow,
The dactyl phrase of the green-rowed maize
Measured the music of Now.
Flung from the writing plow,
The dactyl phrase of the green-rowed maize
Measured the music of Now.
The Stranger at the Gate | ||