All this I dreamt. Shall any deign to hear <br />The Dreamer? But the night was moonless, I, <br />Too weary for the vigil, slept at last, <br />And in my sleep a vision came to me <br />Whose voices are forgotten. Yet I heard <br />Words spoken, though I do not know the tongue; <br />And faces shown, but whose I cannot say, <br />So far the skies that held them. As from veils <br />They stared from out the void—black gossamers <br />That hang beyond the stars. What Spider wove <br />The net? And has It snared the gods therein? <br />What fear is this that shakes the stars? Do they, <br />Then, tremble in their horror as the flies <br />Trapped in the web? It was no word of theirs <br />That crossed the gulf to me. The Message ran <br />Somewhere between Antares and Altair, <br />To break on Earth like ocean on a beach; <br />Yet no man heard save me, and I know not <br />Its meaning; but beyond the dark I felt <br />A vaster Dark, whose slow, annuling tide <br />Creeps nearer to the threshold of the race— <br />Cold and devouring, exigent and dread, <br />A symbol and a certainty of doom. <br />A victim bound, silent as I, the world <br />Seemed waiting, conscious of the thing foretold: <br />If I foretell, what ears shall welcome it <br />Or hand be raised except to threaten me? <br />Life, passing from mirage to final dust, <br />Would have no cruel tidings of the goal <br />Awaiting, but would have her hope sustained <br />By tongues denying her mortality. <br />She dreams of an Elysium of peace, <br />Of pleasures made eternal, and her eyes <br />Would glut them on illusion. Let her dream! <br />I will be wise, and show the people not <br />The shadows of the menace I foresee. <br />Nay, let them dance, and let the sun-duped throng <br />Make merry with its harlots to the last.<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wiser-prophet/
