The Burning Wheel

by Aldous Huxley

VISION. I had been sitting alone with books, Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout of rooks In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth, You lift your branches clean and free To be a beacon to the earth, A flame of wrath for all to see. And the rooks in the branches laugh and shout To those that can hear and understand;

"Walk through the gloomy ways of doubt With the torch of vision in your hand."