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An image fluttering on the screen of fate Half-animated for a passing show, Or a castaway on the ocean of Desire Flung to the eddies in a ruthless sport And tossed along the gulfs of Circumstance, A creature born to bend beneath the yoke, A chattel and a plaything of Time’s lords, Or one more pawn who comes destined to be pushed One slow move forward on a measureless board In the chess-play of the earth-soul with Doom,— Such is the human figure drawn by Time. ||4.17||
