Whose life, to its cold circle charmed,
The earth’s whole summers have not warmed;
Which always, whitherso the stone
Be flung, sits there, deaf, blind, alone—
Ay, and shall not be driven out
Till that which shuts him round about
Break at the very Master’s stroke,
And the dust thereof vanish as smoke,
And the seed of man vanish as dust:
Even so within this world is lust.”