Classic Poem

Men coveting, fighting and dying, an endless strife
In ignorant fever for power and pride and life:
The destined prey of the lusts of desire and disease.

Yet sighs the absurd unreasoning voice of our blood
For a world, alas!—and there is no bitter cold there,
No scorching heat, nor blossom with worm in the bud,
And babes do not die, nor blindness comes to the old there,
But the sun shines fair, and the rain falls soft, and the clime
Conspires with the soil for the loveliest fruits of time,
And the young are strong, and the old go green to the grave
Without pain, and none is master and none is slave
And music sounds from the boats, and garlands are woven
By maids at noon, and great calm statues are cloven
Out of the cliffs, by the shrines of sunnier gods,

Divine, magnificent spirit of man that will face
Invincible ever the battle with hopeless odds
And cannot but dream ere he falls of a time and a race,
Of a day when the world of men maturer grown
Will live without law in perfect wisdom and grace
Like the solar system hanging in awful space,
Its parts sustained serenely by love alone!