Gargoyles

As for the meanest monad, knit To man by mightier bonds than skill Of subtle-souled psychology May sever. Aim in chaos? None. The soul rolls senseless as the sun. III. Existence, as we know it, spins A fatal warp, a woof of woe. There is no place for God or soul. Works, hopes, prayers, sacrifices, sins Are jokes. The cosmos happened so: Innocent all of guide or goal. Else, what were man’s appointed term? To feed God’s friend, the coffn-worm! Iv. Laugh, thou immortal Lesbian! Thy verse runs down the runic ages. Where shalt thou be when sun and star, My sun, my star, the vault that span, Rush in their rude, impassive rages Down to some centre guessed afar 6