Our hunting fathers told the story
Of the sadness of the creatures
Pitied the limits and the lack
Set in their finished features;
Saw in the lion’s intolerant look
Behind the quarry’s dying glare
Love raging for the personal glory
That reason’s gift would add
The liberal appetite and power
The rightness of a god

Who nurtured in that fine tradition
Predicted the result
Guessed love by nature suited to
The intricate ways of guilt;
That human company could so
His southern gestures modify
And make it his mature ambition
To think no thought but ours
To hunger, work illegally
And be anonymous?