Escape none, or, if any, then escape Impossible to win except by slow, [296] And unimaginably slow, process Of suicide to endless date prolonged, Æons on æons following numberless, And fatal transmigrations of the soul From state to state, from form to form, of self: Yet progress none that might be felt the while, But one long-drawn monotony instead Of labor waste in movement seeming vain, Cycles of change returning on themselves Forever, bound to orbits that revolve Eternal repetitions of the same Vicissitude (the weaver's shuttle flung Tediously back and forth from hand to hand— Or swinging pendulum), 'twixt death and birth, Lapses from misery to misery Always, prospect like retrospect stretched out To vista and perspective vanishing Of path to be pursued and still pursued
— from The Epic of Paul by William Cleaver Wilkinson