Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
From the VedicMason A. Freeman, Jr.
The Egg
W
Was born through torment deep in hell;
And it will burst its bonds to sense
Analogous experience,
And swing through poles of heaven and hell
To lurk again within the shell.
Behold the man indeed—the inner self
Who sits inside, no bigger than one’s thumb;
Who limbless moves, and lacking eyes can see;
Scans all the past, can all the future plumb.
I hail the wandering herdsman of the night,
The watcher and the shepherd of the stars,
Who points the pathway leading to the light,
And for the sheep lets down the golden bars.
Within the all-enfolding hands
The worlds are being told like beads.
Lift up your eyes and look thereon!—
What need have ye of forms and creeds?
The moon was gendered from my mind,
And from my eye the sun had birth,
And from my breast the winds burst forth,
And underneath my feet the earth.