A comet does not fall to us,
A bolt towards a sacrificial bull;
It cannot know our up and down.

Nor does it see this accidental clay;
But let us grant it feels the pull
Of the planet and inclines our way,
As we, by a smaller length, lean to it.

So each man or stone exudes a charm,
And draws a blind disaster here,
The passive agent of a self-destructive fate,
For that insidious fifth column
Not only dooms but forms our state.