I traced a circle on the ground, It was a mystic figure strange Wherein I thought there would abound Mute symbols adequate of change, And complex formulas of Law, Which is the jaws of Change's maw. My simpler thoughts in vain had stemmed The current of this madness free, But that my thinking is condemned To symbol and analogy: I deemed a circle might condense With calm all mystery's violence. And so in cabalistic mood A circle traced I curious there; Imperfect the made circle stood Thought formed with minutest care. From magic's failure deeply I A lesson took to make me sigh.
