What sayeth thou o' wise confidant,
You old self-Omni-potent fool;
Believeth in the ways of the scholar yet thou hath cast out,
All faith all reason for such frivolous worldly attires.
But what sayeth thou? What of thee say to have a shred of meaning this day?
Locked in thought, the key tossed in confusion?
‘Tis a shame, to go on the Earth godless, for he who is godless,
Is lost to the gods of man, a lost being;
Doth art thou tire? Art thou wisheth to be a zephyr not a gale?
What sayeth thou this hour? Be quick the world lay like Tyre,
Careful, but tired and be casting a belligerent spell.