With what a childish and short-sighted sense 
Fear seeks for safety; recons up the days 
Of danger and escape, the hours and ways 
Of death; it breathless flies the pestilence; 
It walls itself in towers of defence; 
By land, by sea, against the storm it lays 
Down barriers; then, comforted, it says: 
"This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence! 
Man born of man knows nothing when he goes; 
The winds blow where they list, and will disclose 
To no man which brings safety, which brings risk. 
The mighty are brought low by many a thing 
Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk 
Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling.