Still creaky, but this is more than a hundred years ago:
***
The Folly of Preoccupation
There enters no thing scatheless from the womb;
But imperfection clings all forms about.
Nor leaf, nor flower, nor pod, nor seeding plume,
But some regard shall find, than this, less stout;
And beasts there be with cloven nostrils born,
And birds that tear their young, and eyeless things;
But man more curst, more twisted, ruthless torn,
For each of these a shriveled thousand brings.
Yet to man's eyes, He who, all these can see,
Constrained to throb in just apportioned space,
Should all-pervading all perfection be.
What else than this can wisdom then out-face?
That all these shows like strains of song shall flee
Which man to try out solely here hold place.
Williams, William Carlos. The Early Poems of William Carlos Williams [Annotated] (Kindle Locations 548-559). Perscribo Publishing. Kindle Edition.
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