|Thy feet in mire, thine head in murk,
|O man, how piteous thy plight,
|The doubts that daunt, the ills that irk,
|thou hast nor wit nor will to fight—
|How hope in heart, or worth in work?
|No star in sight!
|Thy Gods proved puppets of the priest.
|“Truth? All’s relation!” science sighed.
|In bondage with thy brother beast,
|Love tortured thee, as Love’s hope died
|And Love’s faith rotted. Life no least
|Dim star descried.
|Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled
|To find itself a chance-cast clod
|Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled
|That aimless accident thus trod
|Its agony, that void skies sprawled
|On the vain sod!
|All souls eternally exist,
|Each individual, ultimate,
|Perfect—each makes itself a mist
|Of mind and flesh to celebrate
|With some twin mask their tender tryst
|Some drunkards, doting on the dream,
|Despair that it should die, mistake
|Themselves for their own shadow-scheme.
|One star can summon them to wake
|To self; star-souls serene that gleam
|On life’s calm lake.
|That shall end never that began.
|All things endure because they are.
|Do what thou wilt, for every man
|And every woman is a star.
|Pan is not dead; he liveth, Pan!
|Break down the bar!
|To man I come, the number of
|A man my number, Lion of Light;
|I am The Beast whose Law is Love.
|Love under will, his royal right—
|Behold within, and not above,
|One star in sight!