The Elephant

Earthquake and plague, storm, fight and fray, portents and curses man must deem Since he regards his self alone, nor cares to trace the scope, the scheme;

The Quake that comes in eyelid’s beat to ruin, level, ’gulf and kill, Builds up a world for better use, to general Good bends special Ill:

The dreadest sound man’s ear can hear, the war and rush of stormy Wind Depures the stuff of human life, breeds health and strength for humankind:

What call ye them or Goods or Ills, ill-goods, good-ills, a loss, a gain, When realms arise and falls a roof; a world is won, a man is slain?

And thus the race of Being runs, till haply in the time to be Earth shifts her pole and Mushtari*-men another falling star shall see: