Babylon

The child alone a poet is:     Spring and Fairyland are his.     Truth and Reason show but dim,     And all's poetry with him.     Rhyme and music flow in plenty     For the lad of one-and-twenty,     But Spring for him is no more now     Than daisies to a munching cow;     Just a cheery pleasant season,     Daisy buds to live at ease on.     He's forgotten how he smiled     And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,     Or wept one evening secretly     For April's glorious misery.     Wisdom made him old and wary     Banishing the Lords of Faery.     Wisdom made a breach and battered     Babylon to bits: she scattered     To the hedges and ditches     All our nursery gnomes and witches.     Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,     Drag their treasures from the shelves.     Jack the Giant-killer's gone,     Mother Goose and Oberon,     Bluebeard and King Solomon.     Robin, and Red Riding Hood     Take together to the wood,     And Sir Galahad lies hid     In a cave with Captain Kidd.     None of all the magic hosts,     None remain but a few ghosts     Of timorous heart, to linger on     Weeping for lost Babylon.