THE WORLD

The world, as far's I understand,

Which is no further than the blind

Of colour and of shade can find

In that obscurity of theirs,

        This world sunlit and grand,

        Of which we are the heirs

        With a proud unconsciousness,

Is worth as much as all our rhymes,

As all our things, its gilded slimes -

Nothing, and that's the most I'll say

Ere on he bed of nothingness

I turn myself the other way.