Here you will find the Poem Decaying Lambskins of poet Robinson Jeffers
After all, we also stand on a height. Our blood and our culture have passed the flood-marks of any world Up to this time. Our engineers have nothing to learn from Rome's, Egypt's, China's, and could teach them more Than ever their myth-makers imagined. Our science, however confused, personal and fabulous, can hardly Lean low enough, sun-blinded eagle, to laugh at the strange astronomies of Babylon, or at Lucretius His childish dreams of origins, or Plato's Lunatic swan. While as for our means and mastery of warfare, at sea, on land, in the air ... So boastful? Because we are not proud but wearily ashamed of this peak of time. What is noble in us, to kindle The imagination of a future age? We shall seem a race of cheap Fausts, vulgar magicians. What men have we to show them? but inventions and appliances. Not men but populations, mass-men; not life But amusements; not health but medicines. And the odor: what is that odor? Decaying lambskins: the Christian Ideals that for protection and warmth our naked ancestors . . . but naturally, after nineteen centuries . . . O Mort, vieux capitaine, est-il temps, nous levons Tancre? It is perhaps Time, almost time, to let our supreme inventions begin to work. The exact intelligent guns Can almost wheel themselves into action of their own accord, and almost calculate their own trajectories. The clever battleships know their objectives; the huge bombing-planes and meteor pursuit-planes are all poised for ... what? Vanity. This also is vanity; horrible too, but a vain dream. Our civilization, the worst it can do, cannot yet destroy itself; but only deep-wounded drag on for centuries.