ONE STAR IN SIGHT 
 
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 Lover’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 
Insatiate.