“Nothing in progression can rest on its original plan. We may as
well think of rocking a grown man in the cradle of an infant.”
All But Blind
All but blind
In his chambered hole
Gropes for worms
The four-clawed Mole.
All but blind
In the evening sky
The hooded Bat
Twirls softly by.
All but blind
In the burning day
The Barn-Owl blunders
On her way.
And blind as are
These three to me,
So, blind to Some-One
I must be. [1901]
WALTER DE LA MARE (1873-1956)