I38 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Had never been. 
Yet to this keen 
Sight, to this sleuth-hound scent for subtle truth, 
The essential youth 
Of all things is corrupt.  I will away 
Into the mystic palaces of Pan 
Hidden from day, 
Hidden from man, 
Awaiting there the coming of the Sphinx 
Whose genius drinks 
The poison of this pestilence, and saves 
The world from all its lords and slaves. 
Ho !  for his chariot-wheels that whirl afar ! 
His hawk’s eye flashing through the silver star ! 
Upon the heights his standard shall be plant 
Free, equal, passionate, pagan, dominant, 
Mystic, indomitable, self-controlled, 
The red rose glowing on its cross of gold... 
 
Yea !  I will wait throughout the centuries 
Of the universal man-disease 
Until the morn of his titanic birth... 
The Saviour of the Earth !