O lords and gods that are! the assigning tide, upon
Some prowless beach where a forgotten fisher dwells,
At last will leave the sea-flung jars of Solomon;

And he, the fisher, fumbling 'mid the weeds and shells,
Shall find them, and shall rive the rusted seals, and free
The djinns that shall tread down thy towering iron hells

And turn to homeless rack thy walled Reality;
That shall remould thy monuments and mountains flown,
And lift Atlantis on their shoulders from the sea

To flaunt her kraken-fouled necropoles unknown;
And raise from realm-deep ice the boreal cities pale
With towers that man has neither built nor overthrown....

O lords and gods that are! I tell a future tale.