Our doom is in our being. We began

In hunger eager more than ache of hell:

And in that hunger became each a man

Ravened with hunger death alone may spell:

And in that hunger live, as lived the dead,

Who sought, as now we seek, in the same ways,

Nobly, and hatefully, what angel’s-bread

Might ever stand us out those short few days.

So is the race in this wild hour confounded:

And though you rectify the big distress,

And kill all outward wrong where wrong abounded,

Your hunger cannot make this hunger less

Which breeds all wrath and right, and shall not die

In earth, and finds some hope upon the sky.