To what a glory art thou come at last!
Thy grand apotheosis doth display to all
The anthropoidal creatures on this terrestrial ball
The object lesson of androidal possibilities.
Like thee poor wingless bipeds with terraneous filth are drenched
Advertisement
By their cosmical relations the soul spark almost quenched,
Like thee when purged by wintry storms and cloud-compelling gales,
As battered bark with broken masts and wind-dismantled sails,
Their spirits like as angel shapes may ever hope to rise,
And fill the lucid interspace betwixt the earth and skies.