Go , rob the world of wonder: from the child
Take gentle Christmas and its gracious dream;
Teach him to heed but noonday, not the gleam
Of those half-lights that to the forest wild
Our bedtime footsteps beckoned and beguiled;
Unveil all secrets; banish things that seem.
The dread Afreet is nothing now but steam.
The ignis charmed us until Science smiled.

One miracle remains: how Art can rhyme
Matter with spirit—turning stone to soul,
Spires to worship, shadowy aisles to prayer;
How the dull metals, tuned by her, outroll
The songs of angels. . . . Ah, profaning time,
Approach the shrine of Beauty, if you dare!