I am that fantasy which race has wrought <br />Of mundane chance-material. I am time <br />Paeaned by the senses five like bells that chime. <br /> <br />I am that cramped and crumbling house of clay <br />Where mansoul weaves the secret webs of thought. <br />Venturer--automaton--I cannot tell <br />What powers and instincts animate and betray <br />And do their dreamwork in me. Seed and star, <br />Sown by the wind, in spirit I am far <br />From self, the dull control with whom I dwell. <br /> <br />Also I am ancestral. Aeons ahead <br />And ages back, both son and sire I live <br />Mote-like between the unquickened and the dead-- <br />From whom I take, and unto whom I give.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/microcosmos/
