I used to bear the burden of the world,

The swirling seas and terraced continents

That like a blanket round its waist are furled

And hold all peoples, places, and events.

I used to carry heaven’s vaulted frame,

Whose grinding gears propel the day and night,

With gold-helmed warriors whirling wheels of flame

Who stab the hungry void with spears of light.

But now I dance the grass beneath the sun,

The fallen leaves, the snow, the violet flowers,

And feast and sing and sacrifice and run,

Or softly sleep in ivy-curtained bowers.

I lose the world, I lose its heavy fear:

A greater One than Heracles is here.

Art of a Mathematician