In the Hall of Marbles

( LINES RECALLED FROM A DESTROYED POEM )

If genius, turned to sordid ends
Ye count to glory lost,
How with mankind that flouts the aims
Time's Attic years engrossed?
Waxes the world so rich and old?
Richer and narrower, age's way?
But, primal fervors all displaced
Our arts but serve the clay.
This plaint the sibyls unconsoled renew:
Man fell from Edem, fall from Athens too.