In his cool hall, with haggard eyes, <br />The Roman noble lay; <br />He drove abroad, in furious guise, <br />Along the Appian way. <br /> <br />He made a feast, drank fierce and fast, <br />And crowned his hair with flowers - <br />No easier nor no quicker passed <br />The impracticable hours. <br /> <br />The brooding East with awe beheld <br />Her impious younger world. <br />The Roman tempest swelled and swelled, <br />And on her head was hurled. <br /> <br />The East bowed low before the blast <br />In patient, deep disdain; <br />She let the legions thunder past, <br />And plunged in thought again. <br /> <br />So well she mused, a morning broke <br />Across her spirit grey; <br />A conquering, new-born joy awoke, <br />And filled her life with day. <br /> <br />"Poor world," she cried, "so deep accurst <br />That runn'st from pole to pole <br />To seek a draught to slake thy thirst - <br />Go, seek it in thy soul!" <br /> <br />She heard it, the victorious West, <br />In crown and sword arrayed! <br />She felt the void which mined her breast, <br />She shivered and obeyed. <br /> <br />She veiled her eagles, snapped her sword, <br />And laid her sceptre down; <br />Her stately purple she abhorred, <br />And her imperial crown. <br /> <br />She broke her flutes, she stopped her sports, <br />Her artists could not please; <br />She tore her books, she shut her courts, <br />She fled her palaces; <br /> <br />Lust of the eye and pride of life <br />She left it all behind, <br />And hurried, torn with inward strife, <br />The wilderness to find. <br /> <br />Tears washed the trouble from her face! <br />She changed into a child! <br />Mid weeds and wrecks she stood -a place <br />Of ruin -but she smiled!<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pagan-world/
