Here in the womb of the world—here on the tie-ribs of earth
    Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat—
Warning, sorrow and gain, salutation and mirth—
    For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor feet.

They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed their father Time;
    Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of the sun.
Hush! Men talk to-day o’er the waste of the ultimate slime,
    And a new Word runs between: whispering, “Let us be one!”