Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/376



palms of Mammon have disowned The gift of our complacency; The bells of ages have intoned Again their rhythmic irony; And from the shadow, suddenly, 'Mid echoes of decrepit rage, The seer of our necessity Confronts a Tyrian heritage.

Equipped with unobscured intent He smiles with lions at the gate, Acknowledging the compliment Like one familiar with his fate; The lions, having time to wait, Perceive a small cloud in the skies, Whereon they look, disconsolate, With scared, reactionary eyes.

A shadow falls upon the land,— They sniff, and they are like to roar; For they will never understand What they have never seen before. They march in order to the door, Not knowing the best thing to seek, Nor caring if the gods restore The lost composite of the Greek.