153 
 
 
 
 
 
PROLOGUE TO RODIN IN RIME 
 
Nor I can give, nor you can take ;  endures 
The simple truth of me that this is yours 
Is not the music mingled with the form 
When all the heavens break in blind black storm ?   
Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they, 
Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay ?   
Silence and darkness cover us, confirm 
Our splendour to its unappointed term :   
For all the mean homunculi that dance 
Around us shudder at our brilliance.  
These puppets perish in the good grand glare, 
Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air !   
These bats need cloisters ;  these tame birds a cage ;   
How should they know the Masters of the Age ?   
Or understand when the Archangels cry 
Adoring us “ 'Έλλην κατ’ άστερ ‘έι ” ?