Man, born of desire, 
Cometh out of night, 
A wandering spark of fire, 
A lonely word of eternal thought, 
Echoing in chance, and forgot. 

He seeth the sun, 
He calleth the stars by name, 
He saluteth the flowers;
[The]1 wonders of land and sea, 
The mountain towers 
Of ice and air 
He seeth, and calleth them fair. 
Then he hideth his face, 
Whence he came to pass away,
Where all is forgot, 
Unmade, lost for aye, 
With the things that are not.
 
He striveth to know, 
To unravel the Mind 
That veileth in horror:
[He wills to adore. 
In wisdom he walketh
And loveth his kind;
His labouring breath
Would keep evermore:
Then he hideth his face ...

He dreameth of beauty. 
He seeks to create
Fairer and fairer]2
To vanquish his fate:
No hindrance he, 
No curse will brook. 
He maketh a law, 
No ill shall be; 
Then he hideth his face, 
[Whence he came to pass away,
Where all is forgot, 
Unmade, lost for aye, 
With the things that are not.]1