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Robert Graves - Babylon
Work rating: Low

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.
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