So far from praising he blasphemes
Who says that God has been or is,
Who swears he met with God in dreams
Or face to face in woods and streams,
Meshed in their boundaries.
"Has been" and "is" the seasons bind,
(Here glut of bread, there lack of bread).
The mill-stones grumble as they grind
That if God is, he must be blind,
Or if he was, is dead.
Can God with Danae sport and kiss,
Or God with rebel demons fight,
Making a proof as Jove or Dis,
Force, Essence, Knowledge, that or this,
Of Godhead infinite?
The caterpillar years-to-come
March head to tail with years-that-were
Round and around the cosmic drum,
To time and space they add their sum
But how is Godhead there?
Weep, sleep, be merry, vault the gate
Or down the evening furrow plod,
Hate, and at length withhold your hate,
Rule, or be ruled by certain fate,
But cast no net for God.
