Classic Poem

This blue that is called azure-blue,
This scoop of water, clump of earth,
This foolish nonsense of no worth,
Called good and evil by some pedants too –

Oh, this diversion full of vain pretence!
This you can gape at? By and by
Will you take in a dream so wry
To call it life must mean you lack all sense?

Oh, surely there is more to life than this!
By human thought I could not make a hole
In this great veil, or fire in this black coal –
For thought itself is play that goes amiss –

Oh, if that Alexander were here now,
He’d proffer me his sword – and I – But see:
There with his scythe strides death ahead of me
To slice the knot he only needs one blow! –