I
Go search the æons an you will
Where withered leaves of Doubt are whirled,
And who hath solved this riddle, Life,
Or Death – that moves with sails unfurled,
Beyond the straining eyes of man
Marooned upon an unknown world.
II
Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caught
That paradox. Primeval Cause;
Each age has had some parable
Each age succeeding marked the flaws;
While shifted, with the calendar,
What men have termed generic laws.
III
Creed after creed behold them now
Like Etna on Vesuvius piled;
Till, scaled to earth by drifting sands
They lie in later days reviled,
And pushed aside by Time’s rough hand
As toys are, by a peevish child.
