Apocalypse

Vaguely unenterprizing floating in
A firmament where stars do not change
Through frosty atmosphere or rain.

The gardens about us are faded
A little and our jaded
Eyes would be glad
To see the old gardener go mad
And shoulder his spade
And his rake
And let the weeds make
Their statement for falsehood or truth
O theagony of perpetual truth!

The leering god might be a plaster-cast
So fixed his putty smile.
His trade of creation has been suspended
And he waits for us at the end of the level mile
His passive switch
Hangs like a cow's tail that beat
The flies of twenty summers, which
Accounts for this decaying-grey conceit.
No one will be able hereafter,
To boast a souvenir of once beauty
The firmament crashes softer and softer
Sin and sorrow and virtue sooty
And no one will be able to say
"I remember dawn's laughter
God was in the Beginning anyway."

§ Title in pencil