– 39 –
Born as I was – a wilderness of one,
A madness of many, and frenzy of sudden
And stone. Made as I am – of fiber
And fume, of riot and ready, of tempest
And tomb, of reason and steam, of steady
And done. Burned into being, this myriad mine,
Like the sun in an array of rays doth shine.
Yet how do we, in our numerable selves,
Become so strangered and so sleeved
Into a single name? Scaffold and manifold,
Fury and frame – so plenteously peopled,
As both communion and crowd,
A division to be marveled at and mourn,
At one in the wilderness, and every moment born.