Song of the Universal I

Come said the muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the universal.

 In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless gross and the slag;
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.

 By every life a share or more or less,
None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.