Babylon

The child alone a poet is:

Spring and Fairyland are his.

Truth and Reason show but dim,

And all’s poetry with him.  Rhyme and music flow in

For the lad of one-and-twenty,  But Spring for him is no more now  Than daisies to a munching cow;  Just a cheery pleasant season,  Daisy buds to live at ease on.

He’s forgotten how he smiled  And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,

Or wept one evening secretly  For April’s glorious misery.  Wisdom made him old and

Banishing the Lords of Faery.  Wisdom made a breach and battered  Babylon to bits: she scattered  To the hedges and ditches  All our nursery gnomes and witches.

Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,  Drag their treasures from the shelves.  Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,  Mother Goose and Oberon,  Bluebeard and King Solomon.

Robin, and Red Riding Hood  Take together to the wood,  And Sir Galahad lies hid  In a cave with Captain Kidd.  None of all the magic hosts,

None remain but a few ghosts  Of timorous heart, to linger on  Weeping for lost Babylon.