by Robert Graves
BE assured, the Dragon is not dead
But once more from the pools of peace
Shall rear his fabulous green head.
The flowers of innocence shall cease
And like a harp the wind shall roar
And the clouds shake an angry fleece.
'Here, here is certitude,' you swore,
'Below this lightning-blasted tree.
Where once it strikes, it strikes no more.
'Two lovers in one house agree.
The roof is tight, the walls unshaken.
As now, so must it always be.'
Such prophecies of joy awaken
The toad who dreams away the past
Under your hearth-stone, light forsaken,
Who knows that certitude at last
Must melt away in vanity--
No gate is fast, no door is fast--
That thunder bursts from the blue sky,
That gardens of the mind fall waste,
That fountains of the heart run dry.
The opening of the poem might be described as a Bardic Imperative. Graves is a poet who enjoys dressing common sense