Dust of Snow.

The Hours passed by, a fleet, confused crowd desired,
With wafture of blown garments, sharp as knife, bright as fire
Light, light of foot and laughing, morning-browed higher,
And where they'd trot the grass: green, the jonquil and the briar
Thrilled into jocund life, the dreaming dungeon dells,
Waked to a morrice chime of broken glass and jostled bells
They spake, and roused the mused soul that dwells,
In dust, or snow, smiling, shaped new heavens and hells
Dethroned old gods, and made blind beggars kings,
God is the plumed Thought that soars and sings
The Hours passed by, with veiled eyes were endowed,
To breathing dusk and arrowy moonlight vowed
Of dream, and parted lips that scarce suspire,
South wind and shadowy grove and murmuring lyre
Swaying they moved, as drowsed of wizard spells,
Were tranced with sight of recent miracles that retell
And yet they trembled, a breeze down their folded wings,
Quivered the hint of sweet scent, withholden things
The Hours passed by, through huddled cities loud,
With witless hate and stale with stinking mire gave sound
So cowled monks might march with bier and shroud,
Down streets plague-spotted toward the rich oils around
Very strange lilies bloomed in lightless cells,
And passionate spirits open, burst their clayey shells
And sang the stricken hope, that bleeds and clings,
Earth's bruised heart beat, in the throbbing strings
The Hours passed by, the stumbling hours and cowed,
Uncertain, prone to tears and childish sounds formed dark clouds
The feeble shapes that any chance perfoems expells,
Their wisdom useless, lacking the lust blood that swells
The tensed vein: the hot, swift tide that stings,
With life. Ah, wise! but naked to the arm slings
And youth, we dallied by the bubble, babbling wells,
Where April pured all her lyrics to secret tells
And son, we sped our bold intel imaginings,
As far as the red planet orbits with triple rings
Life! Love! I followed, and followed thee,
There waits one person to end my journey, and that is me.

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Mankind is just a fable.