The universe flows in infinite wild streams,
related
in rhythms too big and too small for us to know,
since man is just middling, and his comprehension just
middling.
If once, for a second, the universe ceased to
flow
of course it would cease to exist.
The thought is unthinkable, anyhow.
Only man tries not to flow,
repeats himself over and over in mechanical monotony of
conceit
and hence is a mess.
If only Cleopatra had left off being so
Cleopatra-ish
— she was it too long —
if only she had gone down to a deeper self in herself
as time went on,
Anthony might have made a splendid thing of the
East,
she might have saved herself the asp
and him from sticking himself like a pig
and us from the dreary inheritance of Roman
stupidity.