Great was his soul and high his aim,
He viewed the world, and he could trace
A lofty plan to leave his name
Immortal‘ mid the human race.
But as he planned, and as he worked,
The fungus spore within him lurked.
Though dark the present and the past,
The future seemed a sunlit thing.
Still ever deeper and more vast,
The changes that he hoped to bring.
His was the will to dare and do;
But still the stealthy fungus grew.
Alas the plans that came to nought!
Alas the soul that thrilled in vain!
The sunlit future that he sought
Was but a mirage of the brain.
Where now the wit? Where now the will?
The fungus is the master still.