"I am likewise the created,—I the equipoise of thee;

I the particle, the atom, I behold on either hand lie

The inane of measured ages that were embryos of me.

"I am fed with intimations, I am clothed with consequences,

And the air I breathe is coloured with apocalyptic blush:

Ripest-budded odours blossom out of dim chaotic stenches,

And the Soul plants spirit-lilies in sick leagues of human slush.

"I am thrilled half cosmically through by cryptophantic surgings,

Till the rhythmic hills roar silent through a spongious kind of blee:

And earth's soul yawns disembowelled of her pancreatic organs,

Like a madrepore if mesmerized, in rapt catalepsy.

[Pg 398]

"And I sacrifice, a Levite—and I palpitate, a poet;—

Can I close dead ears against the rush and resonance of things?

Symbols in me breathe and flicker up the heights of the heroic;

Earth's worst spawn, you said, and cursed me? look! approve me! I have wings.

"Ah, men's poets! men's conventions crust you round and swathe you mist-like,

And the world's wheels grind your spirits down the dust ye overtrod:

We stand sinlessly stark-naked in effulgence of the Christlight,

And our polecat chokes not cherubs; and our skunk smells sweet to God.

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