SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries, br For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet br needed most, I bring; br Forth from the army, the war emerging--a book I have made, br The words of my book nothing--the drift of it everything; br A book separate, not link'd with the rest, nor felt by the intellect, br But you, ye untold latencies, will thrill to every page; br Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing, eternal br Identity, br To Nature, encompassing these, encompassing God--to the joyous, br electric All, br To the sense of Death--and accepting, exulting in Death, in its turn, br the same as life, br The entrance of Man I sing.