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All still was darkness dread and desolate; There was no change nor any hope of change. In this black dream which was a house of Void, A walk to Nowhere in a land of Nought, Ever they drifted without aim or goal; Gloom led to worse gloom, depth to an emptier depth, In some positive Non-being's purposeless Vast Through formless wastes dumb and unknowable. An ineffectual beam of suffering light Through the despairing darkness dogged their steps Like the remembrance of a glory lost; Even while it grew, it seemed unreal there, Yet haunted Nihil's chill stupendous realm, Unquenchable, perpetual, lonely, null, A pallid ghost of some dead eternity. It was as if she must pay now her debt, Her vain presumption to exist and think, To some brilliant Maya that conceived her soul. This most she must absolve with endless pangs, Her deep original sin, the will to be And the sin last, greatest, the spiritual pride, That, made of dust, equalled itself with heaven, Its scorn of the worm writhing in the mud, Condemned ephemeral, born from Nature's dream, Refusal of the transient creature's role, The claim to be a living fire of God, The will to be immortal and divine. In that tremendous darkness heavy and bare She atoned for all since the first act whence sprang The error of the consciousness of Time, The rending of the Inconscient's seal of sleep, 
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