I sit here and await your pleasure O Poetry I await while my pen runs on The full frenzied measure My words are sane and sober upon The page. Have I been false to the Spirit of the Age? The roads of childhood that I once Explored at the blue-and-white flowering Are closed, and the tents Of the seraphic tinkers. O devouring Black rage Have we been false to the Spirit of the Age? I sit here and await the Wheel's Certain turning in a world where All things come back. Wild reels The villain and the Heroine - and prayer O sage Time is not false to the Spirit of the Age.