He is I

without him still this whirling earth
Might spin its course around the sun,
And death still dog the heels of birth,
And life be lived, and duty done.
Without him let the rapt earth dree 
What doom its twin rotations earn;
Whither or whence, are naught to me,
Save as his being they concern.
Comets may crash, or inner fire
Burn out and leave an arid crust,
Or earth may lose Cohesion’s tire,
And melt to planetary dust.
It ’s naught to me if he ’s not here,
I ’ll not lament, nor even sigh;
I shall not feel the jar, nor fear,
For I am he, and he is I.