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It is the origin and the master-clue, A silence overhead, an inner voice, A living image seated in the heart, An unwalled wideness and a fathomless point, The truth of all these cryptic shows in Space, The Real towards which our strivings move, The secret grandiose meaning of our lives. A treasure of honey in the combs of God, A Splendour burning in a tenebrous cloak, It is our glory of the flame of God, Our golden fountain of the world's delight, An immortality cowled in the cape of death, The shape of our unborn divinity. It guards for us our fate in depths within Where sleeps the eternal seed of transient things. Always we bear in us a magic key Concealed in life's hermetic envelope. A burning Witness in the sanctuary Regards through Time and the blind walls of Form; A timeless Light is in his hidden eyes; He sees the secret things no words can speak And knows the goal of the unconscious world And the heart of the mystery of the journeying years. But all is screened, subliminal, mystical; It needs the intuitive heart, the inward turn, It needs the power of a spiritual gaze. Else to our waking mind's small moment look A goalless voyage seems our dubious course Some Chance has settled or hazarded some Will, Or a Necessity without aim or cause Unwillingly compelled to emerge and be. In this dense field where nothing is plain or sure, Our very being seems to us questionable, Our life a vague experiment, the soul A flickering light in a strange ignorant world, 
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