What is the world? The temple of my thought,
The seen projection of my wakeful eye;
Its far horizons, instant to espy,
A circle by my spinning compass wrought.

As I behold, or not, is aught, or naught;
Time, space, within my mind audacious lie,
Movement, repose, are my heart’s wizardry
Whereby are secrets known, and mysteries taught.

That other world, where reaped is all our sown,
Its light and fire are of my rosary made;
I am fate’s instrument, whose antiphon
Responds to every string thought ever played,
Where is thy sign? In thee my life is stayed;
Where is thy world? These twain are mine alone.