Of all the Souls that stand create— I have elected—One— When Sense from Spirit—files away— And Subterfuge—is done— When that which is—and that which was— Apart—intrinsic—stand— And this brief Drama in the flesh— Is shifted—like a Sand— When Figures show their royal Front— And Mists—are carved away, Behold the Atom—I preferred— To all the lists of Clay!
