Business – the world's work – is the sale of lies

That minister of ministers, Imagination, gathers up The undiscovered Universe, Like jewels in a jasper cup.

My feet are heavy now but on I go, My head erect beneath the tragic years.

One must become Fanatic – be a wedge – a thunder-bolt To smite a passage through the close-grained world.

Farewell the hope that mocked, farewell despair That went before me still and made the pace. The earth is full of graves, and mine was there Before my life began; my resting-place.

Mere by-blows are the world and we, And time within eternity A sheer anachronism.

Unwilling friend, let not your spite abate; Help me with scorn, and strengthen me with hate.