A fog of doubt that a small constant fire
Would have defeated had invisibly
And imperceptibly crept into it,
And made the miracle in it that was yours
A nameless toy for the first imbecile
To flout who found it—wherefore he’ll not find it.
Presently Number One and Number Two
Will be beyond all finding. Number Three
Will not be farther from his eyes tomorrow;
And they’ll all be as safe together then
As we should be if we had not been born.
The circle fills itself; and there you are
Inside it, where you can’t crawl out of it.
It holds you like a rat in a round well,
Where he has only time and room to swim
In a ring until he disappears and drowns,
If it be true that rats abandon ships
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