St. J. No, no; no prophecy! I mean the change may be a growth unfelt, Or else the whole world may collapse at once, (The rotten flesh unable to sustain The bones, enmesh the nerves, confine the blood) And cease to be--ashamed to be Less than immortal and the special care Of God, Omnipotent, Omniscient; God, Lover, avenger, maker and destroyer. Sir T. No! man is greater than to make an end Because his God forsook him. St. J. I think so, too; And in my heart believe terrific war Will burst the chrysalis, the Christendom That hangs in rags about the eager soul, Already winged and rich with crimson stains, With sulphur plumes and violet, green and gold, Psyche at last, pure Matter of itself. Sir T. Psyche? Imagination. St. J. It was my word: Imagination be it! Sir T. Naked against A godless universe, with what, by whom Must we be clothed? St. J. Heaven, Hell and God and Sin Were but a symbol of the Universe, A lie wherein to wrap the babyhood Of man's imagination, which is itself The Universe become self-conscious. That's The whole; there is no more to say: with all The Universe, which _is_ imagination Become in life a consciousness, in soul Self-conscious (still I say it, and again, And yet again it must be said): with all The Universe itself, no symbols now, Imagination must be clad and armed. Sir T. The terror and the splendour of it thrill Me through and through. I feel it: this is great; This is the greatest. St. J. Great and most terrible! I shrink, I quail; the burden weighs me down; The agony dissolves me: this is fear; This, mystery. Legends of creation, tales-- (As if the Universe could have been _made_ In any sense mankind can give the word!) Fantastic myths of virgins bearing boys, And of a desperate God who gave his son To die upon a tree--how foul a thing!-- Of dead men come alive, and signs and shows Of tongues and thunders, cures and stigmata: These are no mystery, but the quaint alarm Of ignorance that harnessed vision against The things that be in sterile dreams of spirit, As banal, venomous-moral, hard and fast As Matter is mysterious, fluent, pure, Filling the Universe with miracle, Filling and being the Universe itself. Sir T. This makes my whole life horrible. St. J. Most lives, Confronting this, will shrivel into dust. Sir T. I've never lived. St. J. That is, you've never thought, Never imagined.