END OF A WORLD
Like tombstones the jacked-up effigies, plaques,
And rigorous monuments of Justice,
As reminders and remainders-just men
Walked, where Glory mildewed in medals
Or lurked in archives and excavations,
Men lived and laughed gloriously now,
The Word made flesh, melted into motion.
That, stranger, is my tale, learn from it how
Instantly an old world with ingrown eye
Engrossed in reflection, immobilised
In precedent, its body dropsical
With tradition, but poised and sprung on awe,
FelL For the flood came, and in one night
The steep gradients of society,
Of luxury and lack, of fee and dole,
Slid, were levelled and laved. No doubt these would
Have waited till they were weathered away,
Or till hill lent hollow an impulsive hand.
But the flood laughed, and lo, the solid land
Flowed like sand before that thaw of heart and
Spate of hate, heaped high by hindrance. The heart
That hates has no halts, and no brakes except
Those of love. So do no idle talking
About greased and gradual changes, or
An oiled, reasoned and orderly advance,
Agreed instalments of progress. Know, now,
That an old world has no heart in moving,
It shifts, but only to retain its ease,
Adopts and adapts the new positions
But only to occupy them against
Newcomers, advancing only itself.
Yet I would say, and would say it to those
Who from the grandstand of dreams see themselves
Crashing through crowds to single glory,
Those who are stoics on their own estates
(Free to indulge themselves or to refrain),
Forgetting the hokers and the grimed stokers
Of their civilised gains-0 I would warn,
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