The old world moans and topes, Is restless and ill at ease; And the old-world politicians Prescribe for the new disease.
I have stooped my head to listen (Its voice is far from strong) For the burden of its moanings As it topes all night long.
I have watched a patient vigil Beside its fever bed, And I think that I can tell you The burden of what it said:—
“As sick folk long for morning And long for night again, So long for noble objects The hearts of noble men.
“They long and grope about them, With feverish hands they grope For objects of endeavour, And exercise for hope.
“And they shall be our heroes And be our Avatar, Who shall either reach the objects Or tell us what they are.”