ONCE, many centuries ago, Men tried to build a tower so high That rising upward, round on round, Its pinnacle should reach the sky.
And as they toiled and built and dreamed and planned, What hopes went upward with the rising stone! That daring feet ere long should mount and stand Upon the golden stairway to the throne.
And then a dire confusion fell Upon the workers, building there. Men called and shouted each to each With strange, uncomprehended speech,
And what it meant no one could tell; So they left building in despair. Yet in their hearts still lived the hope that they Might scale the ramparts of the sky some day.
Sometimes our souls expand and glow With holy visions bright and pure; But when from these deep vales below We proudly try to climb and reach
With clumsy masonry of speech, And rounds of rhyme that shall endure, That sky-born thing, that heavenly theme, Touched only by a prayer or dream,
A swift confusion o'er us flies, And sudden chills our hands benumb. Our minds are blurred, our tongues are dumb, The vision fades away and dies.
Yet still we dream that song some day may be Rung through the arches of Eternity.
Cookies on Poetry Cove