To live unseen and yet behold the earth Put on her lovely vesture in the May; In sun and shadow spin her wonted way, Dance and not question what the dance is worth; From slaughter turn to thrift and lust and mirth, From words to words, till all fools have their say, To be the spirit dwelling in her clay, The light that all her travail brings to birth -- The sophists stop me, crying: "That were God; So are his gifts and attributes defined." Ah, let him wind his tangle, and unwind! I know but this, that daily as I plod Amid the ruined labours of mankind, I shed the flesh awhile, becoming mind. |