Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings. Are changing ’neath our hand. Our fathers also see these things But they do not understand. By—they are by with mirth and tears, Wit or the works of Desire— Cushioned about on the kindly years Between the wall and the fire. The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked Standeth no more to glean; For the Gates of Love and Learning locked When they went out between. All lore our Lady Venus bares, Signalled it was or told By the dear lips long given to theirs And longer to the mould. All Profit, all Device, all Truth Written it was or said By the mighty men of their mighty youth, Which is mighty being dead. The film that floats before their eyes The Temple’s Veil they call; And the dust that on the Shewbread lies Is holy over all. Warn them of seas that slip our yoke Of slow-conspiring stars— The ancient Front of Things unbroke But heavy with new wars? By—they are by with mirth and tears, Wit or the waste of Desire— Cushioned about on the kindly years Between the wall and the fire!