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 plenty

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 wary

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.