Saturday, April 16, 2016

King's Cross Station by G.K. Chesterton

This circled cosmos whereof man is god
   Has suns and stars of green and gold and red,
And cloudlands of great smoke, that range o'er range
  Far floating, hide its iron heavens o'erhead.

 God! shall we ever honour what we are, 
  And see one moment ere the age expire,
The vision of man shouting and erect, 
  Whirled by the shrieking steeds of flood and fire?

Or must Fate act the same grey farce again, 
  And wait, till one, amid Time's wrecks and scars,
Speaks to a ruin here, 'What poet-race
  Shot such cyclopean arches at the stars?'


  1. Lafferty:
    It is worth preserving as a remnant of that early era when there were giants on the earth. And, if it is preserved, someday someone will gaze into the old kerosene-powered receiver and cry out in astonishment in the words of the Greatest Bard: "—what poet-race shot such Cyclopean arches at the stars?"

    -from "Selenium Ghosts of the Eighteen Seventies"

  2. I read The Wild Knight and Other Poems a few months ago.