This is the fifty millionth year-
The world is old- how old it seems !
Young literary gents flock here
To feed on piles of dead men’s dreams:
Bulging with dead men’s thoughts, the air
Hangs underneath the dome how still !
And girls with long and lovely hair
Around them read John Stuart Mill.
God, for a doublet and a swishing cloak,
A pretty bodkin, and a lightning stroke,
A green bank, and some ladies not too wise
To listen while I raved about their eyes!
(Owen Barfield)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, World Poems, Mind Poems, Youth Poems, Dreams PoemsBased on Keywords: swishing, gents, bodkin, millionth