I hold that when a
person dies
His soul returns again
to earth;
Arrayed in some new
flesh-disguise,
Another mother gives
him birth.
With sturdier limbs
and brighter brain
The old soul takes the
road again.
Such is my own belief
and trust;
This hand, this hand
that holds the pen
Has many a hundred
times been dust
And turned, as dust to
dust again;
These eyes of mine
have blinked and shone
In Thebes,
in Troy, in Babylon....
—John Masefield (from A Creed)
