I can’t conceive of one.
[p 9]
]If from the time our sphere began revolving
Until the present writing there had been
A glimmer of a promise of resolving
The muddle we are in:
If we could answer “Whither are we drifting?”
Or hope to wallow out of the morass—
I might continue boosting and uplifting;
But as it is, I pass.
So on your way, old globe, wherever aiming,