As one that would draw through the node of things,
        Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone,
        Cloistered about with memories, alone
In chaos, while the waiting silence sings:

Obliviate of cycles' wanderings
        I was an atom on creation's throne
        And knew all nothing my unconquered own.
God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?!

But I was lonely as a lonely child.
I cried amid the void and heard no cry,
And then for utter loneliness, made I
New thoughts as crescent images of me.
And with them was my essence reconciled
While fear went forth from mine eternity.