They have drifted before my seeming sight
Like principles' effusive, fluttering stains,
And often fear the unerring light
In steady, curious constrain;
But what leniency doth it prepare!
Can I mark them as earth, desert, sea? —
That of quaintly sieving grain doth hint
Extricable details of charms that they
Contain, or of characterism's woob
Of tempo, as content, love, unceasing.
Immortality... But knowledge doth not
Convey self's inclination of thought
To gaze at secular specks up high in
Their abnormal peal, reappearing naught.