Classic Poem

1

Lo, the Deep hath dream'd a dream
Eternities between!
An endless flow of endless dust
Wherein unnumber'd gods are thrust,
Who writhe unseen.

2

And blind and dumb they be therein
And find nor rest nor ease;
From stupor rous'd by quenchless lust
For that — they know not what — that dust
Can ne'er appease.

3

And writhing so, they wreak the dust
To shapes of flor and faun,
That rise and fall and rise anew,
Crumbling, aye, as the gods reel through,
Until — anon — .

4

A few see thro' the murky reek
What spirall'd pathway looms
In Titan reaches, coil on coil; —
Ah! the wise gods know 'tis bitter with toil
And link'd with tombs!

5

Yet the air grows clear as they climb, and keen
With perfume of numberless flowers;
With passion of pleasure and poison of pain,
And tang of things tasted again and again
Thro' the endless hours.

6

But ever they feel one soundless urge
Ominous under all,
As wrought from the primal uncontent
Of some abysmal banishment
Beyond recall.

7

Nor purple bowers of idleness,
Nor all the feasts of Time,
Can free the gods of their grim unrest,
Nor lure them from the awful quest
Whereon they climb.

8

The ages pass, and they find no end,
And vain it all doth seem;
Yet still they toil for a topmost stair
Whereon to wake — somehow — somewhere —
Beyond the dream.