The Graveyard of Dead Creeds I lit upon the graveyard of dead creeds




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The Graveyard of Dead Creeds

I lit upon the graveyard of dead creeds

In wistful wanderings through old wastes of thought,

Where bristled fennish fungi, fruiting nought,

Amid the sepulchres begirt with weeds,

Which stone by stone recorded sanct, deceased

Catholicons that had, in centuries flown,

Physicked created man through his long groan,

Ere they went under, all their potence ceased.

When in a breath-while, lo, their spectres rose

Like wakened winds that autumn summons up: –

‘Out of us cometh an heir, that shall disclose

New promise!’ cried they. ‘And the caustic cup

‘We ignorantly upheld to men, be filled

With draughts more pure than those we ever distilled,

That shall make tolerable to sentient seers



The melancholy marching of the years.’


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