Chance

Bow down before the daemon of the world— This monstrous god, half-idiot and half-ape, With fumbling hands omnipotent to shape A harlot's breast or build great altars. Hurled From the lost sun to sunless hell, or whirled Back to their heaven with equal jest and jape, All other gods shall nevermore escape His will that once begot them. Wars unfurled With banners blown like ever-wandering fires From realm to realm conflagrant, or the play Of coupling mice or monsters, wake alway To his dominion. Darkly born thereof, The troubling atoms teem to stars and byres, The leper's flesh, the white flesh of thy love.