And hound than on to harry and destroy—     

       And when our world was fallen, who but I,     

       Da Vinci, should stand forth to raise it up?     

       These were my dreams; I thought myself divine—     

       All this was long ago, when I was young.     

  

       Next I would make me wings, and I would fly     

       As do the morning birds straight t'ward the sun,     

       Piercing the mists, rise far above the clouds     

       To seek out where God walks and whom He loves.     

       I made me wings, but had not strength to fly.     

       Still discontent and tethered to this world,     

       I strove to wrench the secret out of Life,     

       And swept the far horizon of the stars     

       If there, at least, I might discern some sign     

       To tell me whence souls come, to where depart.     

       I, in my overhaste, pursued too far,     

       Seeking that vague and fabled Paradise     

       Where Adam and his many sons sing chaunts,     

       While Eve walks through them pale and deified.     

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