He is that fallen spear that lies as heaved,
That falsehoods unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
Yet at the same time lies pointed as it furrowed the tidy.
On the off chance that we who locate along it round the world,
See nothing qualified to have been its check,
It is on account of like men we look too close,
Overlooking that as fitted to the circle,
Our rockets dependably make too short a curve.
They fall, they tear the grass, they meet
The bend of earth, and striking, break their own;
They influence us to recoil for metal-point on stone.
Yet, this we know, the obstruction that checked
Furthermore, stumbled the body, shot the soul on
More remote than target at any point appeared or shone.