av Erling Røhmer.
Be weary of the Preachers of Progress,
And remember what was taught us yester-day:
That no matter how sweet and just and good
They make sound the bells of their tomorrow:
A is always A, and night precedes the promised day.
Yet if – again – they wish to chase their dawn,
Pray, kindle all your torches for their hunt –
No, not to follow, but to stay behind,
And there maintain a beacon at their backs,
In case their grand tomorrow be not found.
For this we beg but for an isle to keep,
A plot of land, to till and keep us bronzed,
Content to leave tomorrow where it is;
Our task will be to paint the setting sun,
And sing of what once was to what will be.