THE
BURDEN OF TIME
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Before
the seas and mountains were brought forth
I reigned. I hung the universe
in space,
I capped earth’s poles with ice to South and
North,
And set the moving tides
their bounds and place.
I smoothed the granite mountains with my hand,
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My
fingers gave the continents their form;
I rent the heavens and loosed upon the land
The fury of the whirlwind
and the storm.
I stretched the dark sea like a nether sky
Fronting the stars between
the ice-clad zones;
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I gave
the deep his thunder; the Most High
Knows well the voice that
shakes His mountain thrones.
I trod the ocean caverns black as night,
And silent as the bounds
of outer space,
And where great peaks rose darkly towards the
light
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| I
planted life to root and grow apace.
Then through a stillness deeper than the grave’s,
The coral spires rose
slowly one by one,
Until the white shafts pierced the upper waves
And shone like silver
in the tropic sun.
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I ploughed with glaciers down the mountain glen,
And graved the iron shore
with stream and tide;
I gave the bird her nest, the lion his den,
The snake long jungle-grass
wherein to hide.
In lonely gorge and over hill and plain,
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I
sowed the giant forests of the world;
The great earth like a human heart in pain
Has quivered with the meteors
I have hurled.
I plunged whole continents beneath the deep,
And left them sepulchred
a million years;
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I called,
and lo, the drowned lands rose from sleep,
Sundering the waters of
the hemispheres.
I am the lord and arbiter of man—
I hold and crush between
my finger-tips
Wild hordes that drive the desert caravan,
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| Great
nations that go down to sea in ships.
In sovereign scorn I tread the races down,
As each its puny destiny
fulfils,
On plain and island, or where huge cliffs frown,
Wrapt in the deep thought
of the ancient hills.
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The
wild sea searches vainly round the land
For those proud fleets
my arm has swept away;
Vainly the wind along the desert sand
Calls the great names
of kings who once held sway.
Yea, Nineveh and Babylon the great
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Are
fallen—like ripe ears at harvest-tide;
I set my heel upon their pomp and state,
The people’s serfdom
and the monarch’s pride.
One doom waits all—art, speech, law, gods,
and men,
Forests and mountains,
stars and shining sun,
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The
hand that made them shall unmake again,
I curse them and they wither
one by one.
Waste altars, tombs, dead cities where men trod,
Shall roll through space
upon the darkened globe,
Till I myself be overthrown, and God
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| Cast
off creation like an outworn robe. |
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