Robert Frost's

Skeptic

Far star that tickles for me my sensitive plate
And fries a couple of ebon atoms white,
I don’t believe I believe a thing you state,
I put no faith in the seeming facts of light.

I don’t believe I believe you’re the last in space,
I don’t believe you’re anywhere near the last,
I don’t believe what makes you red in the face
Is after explosion going away so fast.

The universe may or may not be very immense.
As a matter of fact there are times when I am apt
To feel it close in tight against my sense
Like a caul in which I was born and still am wrapped.