Classic Poem

Now let the God of signs and circles break
The crystal boxes of arithmetic.
And out of magic emblems let him make
His ancient puzzles with his scratching stick.
Think not these coins are material things.
Their metal cloak is folded round the God
Whose flesh is music and whose glittering rod
Ruleth the earth with his strict numberings.
Beware the presence of the Power with Wings,
The Guardian of increase and of birth.
Who sitteth on the circle of the earth,
Is perched in splendor on these starry rings,
And like a chariot they still do bear
The Arithmetic God upon the air.