INFINITE Silence became the finite Voice

And forged the flaming limits of the world

A vast and empty fane ; and there up swirled

The glittering motes whose ever-shifting poise

Deluded men, miscall the stagnant Law

Of an unchanging Heaven, the ever-furled

Fixed title-deeds of Wealth—of graspers hurled

Beyond return whenever spring days thaw

The feudal frost of Privilege and Greed !

The spring is here, the Dream becomes the Deed,

The uttering Voice congeals to future time

With changing rhythm, wax and wane of speed

Or weight of sound : what Demiurge has need

Of niggard Sameness phrased in monorhyme ?