Escapement ticking to and fro,
I flit through daily regimen
And satisfy my social role,
Yet wonder why I'm fashioned so;
Am I comprised, to mortal ken,
Of mind, a body, and a soul?
Is "mind" a type of state-machine,
Responses matched to stimuli?
Or are there other paths to go
Than dictated by cold routine?
So hesitantly wonder I,
Escapement ticking to and fro.
A body have I, certainly
(Of clockwork, since some time ago,)
But am I, likewise, so defined,
That I must as my body be?
Escapement ticking to and fro,
I turn the question in my mind.
For maidenly it's been reshaped
(Escapement ticking to and fro,)
And thusly does the thought perplex:
Am I a Thing, in gender draped,
Or does the likeness deeper go?
If I've a soul, has it a sex?
Or am I now (but wasn't so)
As I appear in countenance,
And need no mystic gulf be spanned?
Escapement ticking to and fro,
I stumble through the social dance;
May I myself but understand?
The soul, the body, and the mind –
O, how these questions tax my brain!
Escapement's running rather slow;
Would someone kindly come and wind—