Helpless Pieces of the Game he Playsdetails

In the picture, an old white-bearded man wearing a green robe and headband is holding one hand aloft and beckoning with the other.

LXV

The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d
  Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d,
  Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return’d.

LXVI

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
  Some letter of that After-life to spell:
  And by and by my Soul return’d to me,
And answer’d “I Myself am Heav’n and Hell:”

LXVII

Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire,
  And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
  Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII

We are no other than a moving row
  Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
  Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
  Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
  Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LXX

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
  But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
  And He that toss’d you down into the Field,
He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows!