Ay, Nature chills me with deep fear, 
For Nature, to my seeing, spent 
With looking on my woes too near, 
It is but Mystery eloquen 
The plainest stone, the simplest flower -
All have a meaning deep and vast, 
Mocking their living of an hou 
But this significance, that hath past 
So oft to poet’s song and word, 
Makes them but madmen, even as I, 
Speaking in outline [?] sense absurd 
Strange thoughts for beings that must di 
But Man to me is dreader still, 
The thing of thought, feeling and will, 
Which is so dark unto mine eyes 
That of the sense he calls his soul 
- Let not of seeing speak the mole [?] -
I cannot dream to theoriz
For men, who have wrought creeds and codes 
And guided nations by the roads 
Of feeling and of speculation, 
Have seen as much - nothing - as I 
Into the worl All could perceive 
That Nature aught doth signify: 
Beyond this they could stop or rav 
Most raved and therefore could believ
Yet I, naturally wrapt about, 
Normally, as in feathers the bird, 
With hesitation and with doubt, 
Find all the world a thing absur 
Because myself, a part of it, 
Am an absurdity unfi
Too young I learnt to reason coldly 
And draw conclusions firmly, boldly, 
From thoughts and facts to shatter creeds, 
Careless of man's mendacious need 
Preciseness cast in me the seeds 
Of madness, and the soil was good 
For that abnormal growth of pain 
Whose flowers are red, colour of bloo
Too soon I learned to see too clear, 
And therefore nothing now can capture 
My heart, to which reasoning is rapture, 
That sees night where most poets say 
«'Tis day - I see it all - ­'tis daª
They sing of joy, T sing of fea
Alas! Why should I stop thus long 
Over the illness of my life, 
That has Insanity for wife? 
Turn I back with an impulse stron 
Leave I this shallowness and sin 
The deeper sorrow of my son