A Fairy Tale

All things grew upwards, foul and fair:     The great trees fought and beat the air     With monstrous wings that would have flown;     But the old earth clung to her own,     Holding them back from heavenly wars,     Though every flower sprang at the stars.     But he broke free: while all things ceased,     Some hour increasing, he increased.     The town beneath him seemed a map,     Above the church he cocked his cap,     Above the cross his feather flew     Above the birds and still he grew.     The trees turned grass; the clouds were riven;     His feet were mountains lost in heaven;     Through strange new skies he rose alone,     The earth fell from him like a stone,     And his own limbs beneath him far     Seemed tapering down to touch a star.     He reared his head, shaggy and grim,     Staring among the cherubim;     The seven celestial floors he rent,     One crystal dome still o'er him bent:     Above his head, more clear than hope,     All heaven was a microscope.