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.