‘Within yon world-wide cirque of war <br />What's hidden which they fight so for?’ <br />My guide made answer, ‘Rich increase <br />Of virtue and use, which are by peace, <br />And peace by war. That inner ring <br />Are craftsmen, working many a thing <br />For use, and, these within, the wise <br />Explore the grass and read the skies.’ <br />‘Can the stars’ motions give me peace, <br />Or the herbs' virtues mine increase? <br />Of all this triple shell,’ said I, <br />‘Would that I might the kernel spy!’ <br />A narrower circle then I reach'd, <br />Where sang a few and many preach'd <br />Of life immortal. ‘But,’ I said, <br />‘The riddle yet I have not read. <br />Life I must know, that care I may <br />For life in me to last for aye.’ <br />Then he, ‘Those voices are a charm <br />To keep yon dove-cot out of harm.’ <br />In the centre, then, he show'd a tent <br />Where, laughing safe, a woman bent <br />Over her babe, and, her above, <br />Lean'd in his turn a graver love. <br />‘Behold the two idolatries <br />By which,’ cried he, ‘the world defies <br />Chaos and death, and for whose sake <br />All else must war and work and wake.’<br /><br />Coventry Patmore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-circles/
