The Centaur

I belong to those manifold Existences Once known, or once suspected, That exist no more for man. Was it not well to flee Into the boundless realms of legend Lest man should bridle me? Sometimes I am glimpsed by poets Whose eyes have not been blinded By the hell-bright lamps of cities, Who have not sent their souls To be devoured by robot minotaurs In the infamous Labyrinths of steel and mortar. I know the freedom of fantastic things, Ranging in fantasy. I leap and bound and run Below another sun. Was it not well to flee Long, long ago, lest man should bridle me?