Chapter LVII: The Ironist

Among high gods the absolute ironist Is Love. Therefore, when some cleft lightning mocks Thine arrogant rapture, sad idealist, Admire the wild play of his paradox. Great satires of reversal have astounded His bigots: proud fine dreamers confident Before an idol in their image are hounded Through comedies of disillusionment. Not heavenly Plato, not the Florentine, Not any mage of Epipsychidion Can the true nature of the god divine. Heresiarchs like Heine and like Donne, Bitter and sweet, and hot and cold, know best The incomparable anguish of his jest.