QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, faillines give waysubstances mock and elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possessd Soul, eludes not;
Ones-self must never give waythat is the final substancethat out of all
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, lifewhat at last finally remains?
When shows break up, what but Ones-Self is sure?