FIN DE SIÈCLE
Free though in bonds, foredestined to progress,—
Ever, and ever still—the soul, the soul:
The unvexed spirit, to whose sure intent
All else is relative. Or large or small,
The Afrit, cloud or being, free or pent,
Enshrouds, impenetrates, and masters all.
No grain of sand too narrow to enfold
The spirit's incarnation; no vast land
And sea, but, readjusted to their mould,
It deems Atlantis scarce a grain of sand.
Time's intervals are ages; planets sleep
In death, or blaze in living light afar;
Thought answers thought; deep calleth unto deep
Alike within the globule and the star.
Ay, even the rock-bound globe, which still doth feign
Itself inanimate, itself shall seem
From yonder void a bead upon the train
Of heaven's warder rayed with beam on beam.
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