In this fair-colored scheme what line atones,—
Old hopes being calmly cancelled by the wise,—
To those that died as any dull brute dies,
And propped the Future but with bleaching bones?
O Man to be, if perfect thou indeed,
A horror thine inheritance appears,
A Titan torture-fire thy rising day!
For ancient ocean’s chant to thee must need
Be all one wail of creatures cast away,
And heaven’s own rainbow-smile a thing of tears!