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In the enigma of the darkened Vasts, In the passion and self-loss of the Infinite When all was plunged in the negating Void, Non-Being's night could never have been saved If Being had not plunged into the dark Carrying with it its triple mystic cross.

A heavenly process donned this grey disguise, A fallen ignorance in its covert night Laboured to achieve its dumb unseemly work, A camouflage of the Inconscient's need To release the glory of God in Nature's mud.

A wide unquiet mist of seeking Space, A rayless region swallowed in vague swathes, That seemed, unnamed, unbodied and unhoused, A swaddled visionless and formless mind, Asked for a body to translate its soul.

In this slow ascension he must follow her pace Even from her faint and dim subconscious start: So only can earth's last salvation come.