| |
| WHERE’S the lamp that Hero lit | |
| Once to call Leander home? | |
| Equal Time hath shovelled it | |
| ’Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome. | |
| Neither wait we any more | 5 |
| That worn sail which Argo bore. | |
| |
| Dust and dust of ashes close | |
| All the Vestal Virgins’ care; | |
| And the oldest altar shows | |
| But an older darkness there. | 10 |
| Age-encamped Oblivion | |
| Tenteth every light that shone. | |
| |
| Yet shall we, for Suns that die, | |
| Wall our wanderings from desire? | |
| Or, because the Moon is high | 15 |
| Scorn to use a nearer fire? | |
| Lest some envious Pharaoh stir, | |
| Make our lives our sepulchre? | |
| |
| Nay! Though Time with petty Fate | |
| Prison us and Emperors, | 20 |
| By our Arts do we create | |
| That which Time himself devours— | |
| Such machines as well may run | |
| ’Gainst the Horses of the Sun. | |
| |
| When we would a new abode, | 25 |
| Space, our tyrant King no more, | |
| Lays the long lance of the road | |
| At our feet and flees before, | |
| Breathless, ere we overwhelm, | |
| To submit a further realm! | 30 |
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