There was a voice of busy interchange, A market-place of trivial thoughts and acts: A life soon spent, a mind the body’s slave Here seemed the brilliant crown of Nature’s works, And tiny egos took the world as means To sate awhile dwarf lusts and brief desires, In a death-closed passage saw life’s start and end As though a blind alley were creation’s sign, As if for this the soul had coveted birth In the wonderland of a self-creating world And the opportunities of cosmic Space.
