Idol I found thee, unfeeling, challenging man but to mock him,
Whispering to one that is weak of voids that are vast and almighty,
Hinting of things heaven-high to one not winged like an eagle,
Telling of changeless parts to a leaflet that reddens to perish;
Ever, as nearer I fared, the mighter, less merciful found thee,
Till, after listening long, I faltered, forlorn and disheartened;
Wearied of ceaseless strife, and yearned for some peaceful seclusion,
Where to the chorusing throng both ear and eye might be shuttered;
Hated the turmoil of life, where sounds that are sweetest are strangled,
And into discord clash those martial measures, that struggling,
Should through the din of the dismalest fight, with quavering echoes,
Nerve the warrior anew, and fire his soul with devotion.
