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Crosse, Andrew – Poems – To The Aristocrat
Identifier
026658
Type of Spiritual Experience
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A description of the experience
TO THE ARISTOCRAT
"WHENCE is thy charter, man of power!
That hosts must crouch below thee,
Must heed thee as a moated tower,
And at a distance know thee?
"That thou in thy vast brain must mould
The million at thy pleasure;
That mind must bow before thy gold,
And matter be our measure.
"Think'st thou thy sight alone can reach
The stare that glow around us?
Or that thy wiser tongue can teach
That which might else confound us?
"Is it that all save thee are atone,
When music bursts her slumbers,
That pleasure wakes for thee alone,
And pain for countless numbers?
"That the submissive orb of day
Pours forth for thee its lustre!
For thee the ocean billows play
For thee the fruits rich cluster!
"That for thy smile all nature waits,
As fearful of undoing!
That at thy frown the vengeful fates
Must wrap the globe in ruin!
"That the ignoble mass are tools
Framed for thy scorn or laughter!
That hell is for plebeian fools,
And heaven for thy hereafter!
“Think'st thou? but no, thou dost not think,
No thought can near thee venture!
Thy venal lust has closed each chink
Through which the light may enter!
“Then round thee draw the mystic line,
The fog of rank be o'er thee!
The powers of Darkness, be they thine!
Long may their sons adore thee!"