Den här tycker jag faktiskt är rätt lyckad (från mitten av 1930-talet, beräknar jag).

Modern Superstition

Unarguably there are spirits, ghosts, witches
Devils and spells and charms and portents.
We need not our mind furnish with crotchets
Or have the mediaeval nightmare
To be sensible that we sometimes see and feel
What the eye does not see and the heart does not pulse.
No one is so methodical in time
That not a moment may drift off alone
And when restored to its hour be found
Stammering affairs he knows not for his.

And as a moment from the clock-moored hour strays,
So does the world escape from itself
And lie partly disposed where it is not.
We suffer this fitful absence as we should,
Locking the doors at night, calling the house complete
In its homely numbers of souls and beds.
But our sleep is loud with unanswered knocks,
And tomorrow our head is full of strangers,
And there is something we hope to read in the papers
Without knowing what or expecting to find it.

Over every life-size feature of fact
Hangs a larger shadow of doubt.
Being used to so much hunger with our substance,
We have mapped it widely around ourselves
Like a sacred frontier to content.
Sufficiency floats in an ether of lack
And with nothingness is our world’s whole eked out.
But unarguably there are persons, events,
Thoughts and powers that reason surpass
And bigotry’s name change to paradox.