|
In the fathomless rapture of the Infinite, The Bliss that is creation's splendid grain Or the white passion of God-ecstasy That laughs in the blaze of the boundless heart of Love. A greater Spirit than the Self of Mind Must answer to the questioning of his soul. For here was no firm clue and no sure road; High-climbing pathways ceased in the unknown; An artist Sight constructed the Beyond In contrary patterns and conflicting hues; A part-experience fragmented the Whole. He looked above, but all was blank and still: A sapphire firmament of abstract Thought Escaped into a formless Vacancy. He looked below, but all was dark and mute. A noise was heard, between, of thought and prayer, A strife, a labour without end or pause; A vain and ignorant seeking raised its voice. A rumour and a movement and a call, A foaming mass, a cry innumerable Rolled ever upon the ocean surge of Life Along the coasts of mortal Ignorance. On its unstable and enormous breast Beings and forces, forms, ideas like waves Jostled for figure and supremacy, And rose and sank and rose again in Time; And at the bottom of the sleepless stir, A Nothingness parent of the struggling worlds, A huge creator Death, a mystic Void, For ever sustaining the irrational cry, For ever excluding the supernal Word, Motionless, refusing question and response, Reposed beneath the voices and the march The dim Inconscient's dumb incertitude. Two firmaments of darkness and of light Opposed their limits to the spirit's walk; 
|
