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HITLER,
OCTOBER
1939
Behold,
by Maya’s fantasy of will
A
violent miracle takes sudden birth,
The
real grows one with the incredible.
In
the control of her magician wand
The
small achieves things great, the base things grand.
This
puny creature would bestride the earth
Even
as the immense colossus of the past.
Napoleon’s
mind was swift and bold and vast,
His
heart was calm and stormy like the sea,
His
will dynamic in its grip and clasp.
His
eye could hold a world within its grasp
And
see the great and small things sovereignly.
A
movement of enormous1depth
and scope
He
seized and gave cohesion2
to its hope.
Far
other this creature of a nether clay,
Void
of all grandeur, like a gnome at play,
Iron
and mud his nature’s mingled stuff,
A
little limited visionary brain
Cunning
and skilful in its narrow vein,
A
sentimental egoist poor and rough,
Whose
heart was never sweet and fresh and young,
A
headlong spirit driven by hopes and fears,
Intense
neurotic with his shouts and tears,
Violent
and cruel, devil, child and brute,
This
screaming orator with his strident tongue,
The
prophet of a scanty fixed idea,
Plays
now the leader of our human march;
His
might shall build the future’s triumph arch.
Now
is the world for his eating a ripe fruit.
His
shadow falls from London to Korea.
Cities
and nations crumble in his course.
A
terror holds the peoples in its grip:
World-destiny
waits upon that foaming lip.
A
Titan Power supports3 this
pigmy man,
1 gigantic
2
coherence 3
upholds
Page-110
The
crude dwarf instrument of a1
mighty Force.
Hater of
the free spirit’s joy and light,
Made
only of strength and skill and giant might,
A
Will to trample humanity into,
clay
And
unify earth beneath one iron sway,
Insists
upon its fierce enormous plan.
Trampling
man’s mind and will into one mould
Docile
and facile in a dreadful hold,
It
cries its demon slogans to the crowd;
But
if its2 tenebrous empire were allowed,
Its
mastery would prepare the dismal hour
When
the Inconscient shall regain its right,
And
man who emerged as Nature’s
conscious power,
Shall
sink into the deep original night
Sharing
like all her forms that went before
The
doom of the mammoth and the dinosaur.
It
is the shadow of the Titan’s robe
That
looms across the panic-stricken globe.
In
his high villa on the fatal hill
Alone
he listens to that sovereign Voice,
Dictator
of his action's sudden choice,
The
tiger leap of a demoniac skill.
Too
small and human for that dreadful Guest,
An
energy his body cannot invest3 ,
-
A
tortured channel, not a happy vessel,
Drives
him to think and act and cry and wrestle.
Thus
driven he must stride on conquering all,
Threatening
and clamouring, brutal, invincible,
Perhaps
to meet4 upon his storm-swept
road
A
greater devil- or thunderstroke
of God.
1his
2that 3house
4Until
he meets
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