LXVII

Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire,

And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire

Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,

So late emerg’d from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII

We are no other than a moving row

Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go

Round with the Sun-illumin’d Lantern held

In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays

Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days:

Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LXX

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;

And He that toss’d you down into the Field,

He knows about it all — HE knows — HE knows!