This body which was once my universe,
Is now a pittance carried by the soul, —
Its Titan’s motion bears this scanty purse,
Pacing through vastness to a vaster goal.
Too small was it to meet the giant need
That only infinitude can satisfy:
He keeps it still, for in the folds is hid
His secret passport to eternity.
In his front an endless Time and Space deploy
The landscape of their golden happenings;
His heart is filled with sweet and violent joy,
His mind is upon great and distant things.
How grown with all the world conterminous
Is the little dweller in this narrow house!
Notes on Text
2 October 1939. Three handwritten manuscripts.
