Out of Babylon

As I stole out of Babylon beyond the stolid warders,
(My soul that dwelt in Babylon long, long ago!)
The sound of cymbals and of lutes, of viols and recorders,
Came up from khan and caravan, loud and low.

As I crept out of Babylon, the clangor and the babel,
The strife of life, the haggling in the square and mart,
Of the men who went in saffron and the men who went in sable,
It tore me and it wore me, yea, it wore my heart.

As I fled out of Babylon, the cubits of the towers
They seemed in very mockery to bar my way;
The incense of the altars, and the hanging-garden flowers,
They lured me with their glamour, but I would not stay.

We still flee out of Babylon, its vending and its vying,
Its crying up to Mammon, its bowing to Baal;
We still flee out of Babylon, its sobbing and its sighing,
Where the strong grow ever stronger, and the weary fail!

We still flee out of Babylon, the feverish, the fretful,
That saps the sweetness of the soul and leaves but a rind;
We still flee out of Babylon, and fain would be forgetful
Of all within that thrall of wall threatening behind!

Oh, Babylon, oh, Babylon, your toiling and your teeming,
Your canyons and your wonder-wealth, — not for such as we!
We who have fled from Babylon contented are with dreaming, —
Dreaming of earth's loveliness, happy to be free!