I saw the electric stream on which is run
The world turned motes and spark-whirls of a Light,
A Fire of which the nebula and sun
Are glints and flame-drops, scattered, eremite;
And veiled by viewless Light worked other Powers,
An Air of movement endless, unbegun,
Expanding and contracting in Time’s hours
And the intangible ether of the One.
The surface finds, the screen-phenomenon,
Are Nature’s offered ransom, while behind
Her occult mysteries lie safe, unknown,
From the crude handling of the empiric Mind.
Our truths discovered are but dust and trace
Of the eternal Energy in her race.
Notes on Text
Circa 1934 – 35. Three handwritten manuscripts.
