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Deep in the man sits fast his fate
To mould his fortunes, mean or great:
Unknown to Cromwell as to me
Was Cromwell's measure or degree;
Unknown to him as to his horse,
If he than his groom be better or worse.
He works, plots, fights, in rude affairs,
With squires, lords, kings, his craft compares,
Till late he learned, through doubt and fear,
Broad England harbored not his peer:
Obeying time, the last to own
The Genius from its cloudy throne.
For the prevision is allied
Unto the thing so signified;
Or say, the foresight that awaits
Is the same Genius that creates.

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How foolish of me, 
all these days I've been 
running after my destiny, 
falling in dirty ditches, 
tumbling in dingy pits, 
stooping to levels low.
If only I could have agnized 
that destiny is like shadow.
Created with me 
in mother's womb.
Can only be chased, 
never can be seized.
So now I've decided, 
I will climb the mountains 
following my dreams
and my destiny 
will follow me
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