The Adventure of the Apocalypse

Vanishing edges

All forms have vanishing edges!

Colour and line now seem

To shade off ;a the farness

Of an infinite dream!

The mind awakes to a presence

No eye can see—

Enfolding every earth-shape

With aura of mystery.

Time-figures have grown portions

Of a hidden world

Ruling by utter quiet:

Shiningly swirled

In spaces which are viewless,

They cry to me, "O sweep,

Beyond our little thrillings,

To the all-creative Deep,

Breakless and self-complete—

Bliss free of bound—

One whole of truth forever,

Needing no sound

To relish its own nectar

Of knowledge immense

That never can be fathomed

By the brief sense

You read in forms about you

As if were conned

Life's secret, without feeling

The vast beyond!"

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This cry bespells my body;

It tingles on vague nerves,

And a mystic gleam goes stealing

Along the clay-built curves.

Suddenly that strange twilight

Flickering on my skin

Draws to a conscious rapture

Some greatness locked within.

Through a gold-grey reverie

I largens out of space:

Birthless and deathless, I am playing

With a mask of human face! . . .

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