I Go search the aeons an you will Where withered leaves of Doubt are whirled, And who hath solved this riddle, Life, Or Death-that moves with sails unfurled, Beyond the straining eyes of man Marooned upon an unknown world. II Nor tongue hath told, nor vision caught That paradox, Primeval Cause; Each age has had some parable Each age succeeding marked the flaws; While shifted, with the calendar, What men have termed generic laws. III Creed after creed behold them now Like Etna on Vesuvius piled; Till, scaled to earth by drifting sands They lie in later days reviled, And pushed aside by Time's rough hand As toys are, by a peevish child."