What unto me is Nature after all?
I pass her by and softly go my way.
She is the remnant of my little day
Upon this beautiful revolving ball.
I am the real being. At my beck,
The seeming actual pays its vassalage;
I am the reader and the world the page;
I fling a halter round old matter’s neck.
Glad to be taught of things outside, yet I
Find me indifferent to their transient touch;
A life’s to-day is an eternity
Seems not to please my spirit overmuch.
I may not fathom now the end or what
The sweat and blood and tragedy may mean;
But I can fight the fight and falter not.
Above the clouds the hilltops are serene.
So if I stay here years or slip away
While yet the early dawn is dim and dark,
It matters not. I am that living spark
That ever glows ’tho planets have their day.(Text.)
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