An animalcule in my blood
Rose up against me as I dreamed,
He was so tiny as he stood,
You had not heard him, though he screamed.
He cried‘ There is no Man!’
And thumped the table with his fist,
Then died — his day was scarce a span,—
That microscopic atheist.
Yet all the while his little soul
Within what he denied did live,—
Poor part, how could he know the whole?
And yet he was so positive!
And all the while he thus blasphemed
My ( solar ) system went its round,
My heart beat on, my head still dreamed,—
But my poor atheist was drowned.