Of the young World’s proto-prime!
In this autoplastic archetype of Protean protem lay
All the humans Space has room for, or for whom Time makes a day,
From the Sage whose words of wisdom Prince or Parliament obey,
To the Parrots who but prattle, and the asses who but bray—
So full was this Atom-Molecule,
Of the young World’s proto-prime!
All brute-life, from Lamb to Lion, from the Serpent to the Dove,
All that pains the sense or pleases, all the heart can loathe or love,
All instincts that drag downwards, all desires that upwards move,