This strutting “I” of human self and pride

Is a puppet built by Nature for her use,

And dances as her strong compulsions bid,

Forcefully feeble, brilliantly obtuse.

Our thinking is her leap of fluttering mind,

We hear and see by her constructed sense:

Our force is hers; her colours have combined

Our fly-upon-the-wheel magnificence.

He sits within who turns on her machine

These beings, portions of his mystery,

Many dwarf beams of his great calm sunshine,

A reflex of his sole infinity.

One mighty Self of cosmic act and thought

Employs this figure of a unit nought.