A Snug Sonnet

somewhere along the limpèd line —
I think it must have been at three —
I lost the knack of being God
and settled down to being me;
and there are times I know an urge
to go on back to making moons,
to casting suns and stars about
on other earthly afternoons;
but when I think of being blamed
for wars and lesser shows of hate,
and dwell on that far loneliness
of being God, I hesitate,
and think how good it is to climb
a designated hank of Time.