The World

Some are the brothers of all humankind,

       &nbsp And own them, whatsoever their estate;

And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind

       &nbsp With enmity for man's unguarded fate.



For some there is a music all day long

       &nbsp Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;

And there is hell's eternal under-song

       &nbsp Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.



Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous,

       &nbsp Some say 't were better back to chaos hurled;

And so 't is what we are that makes for us

       &nbsp The measure and the meaning of the world.