The portents’ passing arms us all with awe—
Celestial lights and ranine raining came;
Our earthly eyes the blazing omens saw
And so were seared that never would the same.
But lights and temblors sent by dramaturge
Availing of a people leaden dense
Are not the province of a proper demiurge
Who shows us history by the drapery He rents.
The little stones which mark the thousandth mile
Are not of flashier rock composed; nor they
The least will spook the steady worker while
He passes cracking little temblors with his dray.
So numbers though they’re carven won’t mean nothing yet,
But judge your life by those you meet, and those ye’ve ever met.
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