Cosmos

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.