How many turn back toward dreams and magic, how many <br />children <br />Run home to Mother Church, Father State, <br />To find in their arms the delicious warmth and folding of souls. <br />The age weakens and settles home toward old ways. <br />An age of renascent faith: Christ said, Marx wrote, Hitler says, <br />And though it seems absurd we believe. <br />Sad children, yes. It is lonely to be adult, you need a father. <br />With a little practice you'll believe anything. <br /> <br />Faith returns, beautiful, terrible, ridiculous, <br />And men are willing to die and kill for their faith. <br />Soon come the wars of religion; centuries have passed <br />Since the air so trembled with intense faith and hatred. <br />Soon, perhaps, whoever wants to live harmlessly <br />Must find a cave in the mountain or build a cell <br />Of the red desert rock under dry junipers, <br />And avoid men, live with more kindly wolves <br />And luckier ravens, waiting for the end of the age. <br /> <br />Hermit from stone cell <br />Gazing with great stunned eyes, <br />What extravagant miracle <br />Has amazed them with light, <br />What visions, what crazy glory, what wings? <br />I see the sun set and rise <br />And the beautiful desert sand <br />And the stars at night, <br />The incredible magnificence of things. <br />I the last living man <br />That sees the real earth and skies, <br />Actual life and real death. <br />The others are all prophets and believers <br />Delirious with fevers of faith.<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thebaid/
