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Poem	With what a childish and short-sighted sense Fear seeks for safety; recons up the days Of danger and escape, the hours and ways Of death; it breathless flies the pestilence; It walls itself in towers of defence; By land, by sea, against the storm it lays Down barriers; then, comforted, it says: "This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence! Man born of man knows nothing when he goes; The winds blow where they list, and will disclose To no man which brings safety, which brings risk. The mighty are brought low by many a thing Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling.
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