Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu/111

 To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence


 * I who am dead a thousand years,
 * And wrote this sweet archaic song,
 * Send you my words for messengers
 * The way I shall not pass along.


 * I care not if you bridge the seas,
 * Or ride secure the cruel sky,
 * Or build consummate palaces
 * Of metal or of masonry.


 * But have you wine and music still,
 * And statues and a bright-eyed love,
 * And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
 * And prayers to them who sit above ?


 * How shall we conquer ? Like a wind
 * That falls at eve our fancies blow,
 * And old Mæonides the blind
 * Said it three thousand years ago.

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