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THE TWO VOICES.
"Before the little ducts began
To feed thy bones with lime, and ran
Their course, till thou wert also man:
"Who took a wife, who rear'd his race,
Whose wrinkles gather'd on his face,
Whose troubles number with his days:
"A life of nothings, nothing-worth,
From that first nothing ere his birth
To that last nothing under earth!"
"These words," I said, "are like the rest,
No certain clearness, but at best
A vague suspicion of the breast:
"But if I grant, thou might'st defend
The thesis which thy words intend—
That to begin implies to end;
