(PROMETHEUS) I Speak! but ask us not to be as ye were! All but God is changing day by day.He who breathes on man the plastic spirit Bids us mould ourselves its robe of clay. II Old anarchic floods of revolution, Drowning ill and good alike in night,Sink, and bare the wrecks of ancient labour, Fossil-teeming, to the searching light. III There will we find laws, which shall interpret, Through the simpler past, existing life;Delving up from mines and fairy caverns Charmed blades, to cut the age’s strife. IV What though fogs may stream from draining waters? We will till the clays to mellow loam;Wake the graveyard of our fathers’ spirits; Clothe its crumbling mounds with blade and bloom. V. Old decays but foster new creations; Bones and ashes feed the golden corn;Fresh elixirs wander every moment, Down the veins through which the live past feeds its child, the live unborn. ACT I SCENE I. A.D. 1220 The Doorway of a closed Chapel in the Wartburg. Elizabeth sitting on the Steps. Eliz. Baby Jesus, who dost lieFar above that stormy sky,In Thy mother’s pure caress,Stoop and save the motherless. Happy birds! whom Jesus leavesUnderneath His sheltering eaves;There they go to play and sleep,May not I go in to weep? All without is mean and small,All within is vast and tall;All without is harsh and shrill,All within is hushed and still. Jesus, let me enter in,Wrap me safe from noise and sin.Let me list the angels’ songs,See the picture of Thy wrongs; Let me kiss Thy wounded feet,Drink Thine incense, faint and sweet,While the clear bells call Thee downFrom Thine everlasting throne. At thy door-step
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