Figure D24 TERRA

Upward now, but not to scorching skies

Futures, by nature manifold, not one

An odour as of clay that bakes and dries

A room of rude ADOBE, where the sun

Filters thro’ torn curtains: here has run

A million years of mixture, which has made

All matter jumbled, entropick and dun:

As coloured doughs, when long have children played,

Revert to an unhealthy purple-brownish shade.