Images of Creation

When Force divided in its Span, Brute strength was hammered into Man; Rule straight! Forge words! Kill foe! Till ground! Man's Destiny is muscle-bound.		To Woman, Cunning was allot, But little sympathy She got.         Seduce, conceive, control, then mourn . . .      Man's Destiny is Woman's scorn.
Nobles and Princes, Earls and Kings, Rattle Tin Chains and hear Gold Rings: Bluebells toll for the Sunny day, The Wild Roe chase and the Cony play; And the Emperor fluttering through the glade, From Golden blaze to immortal shade. His whim is Death or his pleasure Life, Diadems Gold or the Lapis knife, Yet he must dance to the Devil's Fife: The impressed gilt of his Empress Wife. The Actor, Bishop or Charlatan, Chatters as much as the Harlot can: A Rigmarole or a Riddle-me-ree? The Triple-Crown or the Fleur-de-lis? A Fiddling-stick or Fiddle-de-dee? Quicksilver's Niello Verdigris! The Hoary Head and the Heady Whore, Create the world on a threshing floor, From crusty shell to the molten core; And the Magpie cries: Excelsior! The Soldier, Artisan and Slave, Is tireless, diligent, and brave: A Nightly disk of Silver pays, For battles, bottles, cups and trays; For blood, for toil, for tears, for sweat, From dry lives wrung, wronged ever yet. Red muscle pounding hot red stench, Brings thirst the Sighs of Night will quench: The long draught of the ale-house bench; The shorter draught of ready wench.
When Force divided Man from Man, Bright strength was hammered till blood ran; Rules bend! Forge swords! Hack foe! Pack ground! Man's Destiny is earthen mound.		And Woman, keening soon forgot, Has mind to simper for her lot.       Traduce, deceive, decry, pour scorn . . .  Man's Destiny is Woman's bourn.