Spirit

Have I not answered thee? The Begetter of worlds, stars, suns, and systems! The Father of Creation! the Bridegroom Of the Spirit! hath He not written that Death has dominion only over sin? And thou would'st know if other worlds have felt The curse that fell upon, and blighted thine. Poor simple child of clay! no doubt thou know'st The story of the Eden of thy sire, And think'st that there, in its fresh, stainless breast, The baleful seeds of evil first were sown, Which since have spread so fearfully abroad,— When the sad doom, that came on him and his, Was but the spray, cast from the wave of fate, Which just then reached thy newly finished orb. Where it first started—whither tends its course— Where it shall stop—how many wrecks of worlds— Once fairer far than thine was at its birth— Shall strew its desolate way,—is not for things Brought forth from dust to know. What wouldst thou of me?