That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
“And is thy earth so marred,
Shattered in shard on shard?
Lo! all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!
Strange, piteous, futile thing,
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught” (He said)
“And human love needs human meriting:
How hast thou merited—
Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?