<h2><SPAN name="page103"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE ALL-CREATIVE SPARK</h2>
<p class="poetry">Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for
gold,<br/>
Vulgarity can masquerade as wit,<br/>
Or spite wear friendship’s garments; but I hold<br/>
That passionate feeling has no counterfeit.<br/>
Chief jewel from Jove’s crown ’twas sent men, lent<br/>
For inspiration and for sacrament.</p>
<p class="poetry">Jove never could have made the Universe<br/>
Had he not glowed with passion’s sacred
fire;<br/>
Though man oft turns the blessing to a curse,<br/>
And burns himself on his own funeral pyre,<br/>
Though scarred the soul be where its light burns bright,<br/>
Yet where it is not, neither is there might.</p>
<p class="poetry">Yea, it was set in Jove’s resplendent
crown<br/>
When he created worlds; that done, why, hence,<br/>
He cast the priceless, awful jewel down<br/>
To be man’s punishment and recompense.<br/>
And that is how he sees and hears our tears<br/>
Unmoved and calm from the eternal spheres.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page104"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
104</span>But sometimes, since he parted with all passion,<br/>
In trifling mood, to pass the time away,<br/>
He has created men in that same fashion,<br/>
And many women (jesting as gods may),<br/>
Who have no souls to be inspired or fired,<br/>
Mere sport of idle gods who have grown tired.</p>
<p class="poetry">And these poor puppets, gazing in the dark<br/>
At their own shadows, think the world no higher;<br/>
And when they see the all-creative spark<br/>
In other souls, they straightway cry out,
“Fire!”<br/>
And shriek, and rave, till their dissent is spent,<br/>
While listening gods laugh loud in merriment.</p>
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