I who am dead a thousand years, <br />And wrote this sweet archaic song, <br />Send you my words for messengers <br />The way I shall not pass along. <br /> <br />I care not if you bridge the seas, <br />Or ride secure the cruel sky, <br />Or build consummate palaces <br />Of metal or of masonry. <br /> <br />But have you wine and music still, <br />And statues and a bright-eyed love, <br />And foolish thoughts of good and ill, <br />And prayers to them who sit above? <br /> <br />How shall we conquer? Like a wind <br />That falls at eve our fancies blow, <br />And old Mæonides the blind <br />Said it three thousand years ago. <br /> <br />O friend unseen, unborn, unknown, <br />Student of our sweet English tongue, <br />Read out my words at night, alone: <br />I was a poet, I was young. <br /> <br />Since I can never see your face, <br />And never shake you by the hand, <br />I send my soul through time and space <br />To greet you. You will understand.<br /><br />James Elroy Flecker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-poet-a-thousand-years-hence/
