I found me in a great surging space,
        At either end a door,
And I said: "What is this giddying place,
        With no firm-fixed floor,
        That I knew not of before?"
        "It is Life," said a mask-clad face.

I asked: "But how do I come here,
        Who never wished to come;
Can the light and air be made more clear,
        The floor more quietsome,
        And the doors set wide? They numb
        Fast-locked, and fill with fear."

The mask put on a bleak smile then,
        And said, "O vassal-wight,
There once complained a goosequill pen
        To the scribe of the Infinite
        Of the words it had to write
        Because they were past its ken."