Return of Chaos

…from the quills of the dead white poets

 Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744)

  She comes! the sable Throne behold

Of Night Primaeval, and of Chaos old!

Before her, Fancy’s gilded clouds decay.

And all its varying Rainbows die away,

The meteor drops, and in vain a flash expires.

As one by one, at dread Medea’s strain,

The sick’ning stars fade off th’ethereal plain;

As Argus’ eyes, by Hermes’s wand opprest,

Clos’d one by one to everlasting rest;

Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,

Art after Art goes out, and all is Night.

See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,

Mountains of Casuistry heap’d o’er her head!

Philosophy, that lean’d on Heav’n before,

Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

Physic of Metaphysics begs defence,

And Metaphysics call for aid on Sense!

See Mystery to Mathematics fly!

In vain! They gaze, turn giddy, rave and die.

Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,

And unawares Morality expires.

Nor public Flame, nor private, dares to shine;

Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine!

Lo! thy dread Empire, CHAOS! Is restor’d;

Light dies before thy uncreating word:

Thy hand, great Anarch! Lets the curtain fall;

And Universal Darkness buries All.

 {From The Dunciad}

About Avadoro Worden

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2 Responses to Return of Chaos

  1. ending song says:

    I like the idea of Sunday poetry and no politics and other bad news.

  2. ciprianis says:

    Chaos is great! Fog of chaos? Good enough.

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