Such Is Our Time, Too

The last two lines of this poem by Herman Melville (1819 – 1891) are as apropos now, and here (where/when-ever now and here might be for you), as they were in his time, where he wrote it.

The Ravaged Villa

In shards the sylvan vases lie,

    Their links of dance undone,

And brambles wither by thy brim,

    Choked fountain of the sun!

The spider in the laurel spins,

    The weed exiles the flower:

And, flung to kiln, Apollo’s bust

    Makes lime for Mammon’s tower.

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Lime is needed for concrete and cement.

The first two lines allude to Keats.

Apollo was the ancient Greek god of the Sun, and is associated with classical poetry and art. Nietsche divided poetry—and thus art—into two types, Apollonian and Dionysian. You can picture what was once a fountain with a statue of Apollo surrounded by laurels, Apollo’s symbol. Champions in Olympic games, and later Caesar, wore crowns of laurel leaves. Here in Connecticut, our State Flower is the mountain laurel, and at the season of my writing and posting this, they will soon be beautifully in bloom—a lovely part of Spring.