Within ourselves, we strangers are thereto.
We seek to know the moving of each sphere,
And the strange cause of the ebbs and flows of Nile:
But of that clock within our breasts we bear,
The subtle motions we forget the while.
We, that acquaint ourselves with every zone,
And pass both tropics, and behold each pole,
When we come home, are to ourselves unknown,
And unacquainted still with our own soul.