If men should ask, Despoina, why I tell <br />Of nothing glad nor noble in my verse <br />To lighten hearts beneath this present curse <br />And build a heaven of dreams in real hell, <br /> <br />Go you to them and speak among them thus: <br />“There were no greater grief than to recall, <br />Down in the rotting grave where the lithe worms crawl, <br />Green fields above that smiled so sweet to us.” <br /> <br />Is it good to tell old tales of Troynovant <br />Or praises of dead heroes, tried and sage, <br />Or sing the queens of unforgotten age, <br />Brynhild and Maeve and virgin Bradamant? <br /> <br />How should I sing of them? Can it be good <br />To think of glory now, when all is done, <br />And all our labour underneath the sun <br />Has brought us this-and not the thing we would? <br /> <br />All these were rosy visions of the night, <br />The loveliness and wisdom feigned of old. <br />But now we wake. The East is pale and cold, <br />No hope is in the dawn, and no delight.<br /><br />Clive Staples Lewis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/apology-8/
