The poem
I rose at night and visited The Cave of the Unborn, And crowding shapes surrounded me For tidings of the life to be, Who long had prayed the silent Head To speed their advent morn.
Their eyes were lit with artless trust; Hope thrilled their every tone: "A place the loveliest, is it not? A pure delight, a beauty-spot Where all is gentle, pure and just And ??violence?? is unknown?"
My heart was anguished for their sake; I could not frame a word; But they descried my sunken face And seemed to read therein, and trace The news which Pity would not break Nor Truth leave unaverred.
And as I silently retired I turned and watched them still: And they came helter-skelter out, Driven forward like a rabble rout Into the world they had so desired, By the all-immanent Will.