‘O world of many worlds . . .’

  O World of many worlds, O life of lives,   What centre hast thou? Where am I?   O whither is it thy fierce onrush drives?   Fight I, or drift; or stand; or fly?   The loud machinery spins, points work in touch;   Wheels whirl in systems, zone in zone.   Myself, having sometime moved with such,   Would strike a centre of mine own.   Lend hand, O Fate, for I am down, am lost!   Fainting by violence of the Dance ...   Ah thanks, I stand---the floor is crossed,   And I am where but few advance.   I see men far below me where they swarm ...   (Haply above me---be it so!   Does space to compass-points conform,   And can we say a star stands high or low?)   Not more complex the millions of the stars   Than are the hearts of mortal brothers;   As far remote as Neptune from small Mars   Is one man's nature from another's.   But all hold course unalterably fixed;   They follow destinies foreplanned:   I envy not these lives their faith unmixed,   I would not step with such a band.   To be a meteor, fast, eccentric, lone,   Lawless; in passage through all spheres,   Warning the earth of wider ways unknown   And rousing men with heavenly fears ...   This is the track reserved for my endeavour;   Spanless the erring way I wend.   Blackness of darkness is my meed for ever?   And barren plunging without end?   O glorious fear! Those other wandering souls   High burning through that outer bourne   Are lights unto themselves. Fair aureoles   Self-radiated there are worn.   And when in after times those stars return   And strike once more earth's horizon,   They gather many satellites astern,   For they are greater than this system's Sun.