God it could not be,
If in his mortal blindness he saw clear;
And yet, and yet, could madness wring the heart
Thus, thus, and thus, for nineteen hundred years?
Would that she knew, would God that she knew now,
How much we loved her!
The blind world, still ruled
By shams, and following in hypnotic flocks
The sheep-bell of an hour, still thought of him
“The Man of Science” as less or more than man,