In occult depths grow Nature’s roots unshown;
Each visible hides its base in the unseen,
Even the invisible guards what it can mean
In a yet deeper invisible, unknown.
Man’s science builds abstractions cold and bare
And carves to formulas the living whole;
It is a brain and hand without a soul,
A piercing eye behind our outward stare.
The objects that we see are not their form,
A mass of forces is the apparent shape;
Pursued and seized, their inner lines escape
In a vast consciousness beyond our norm.
Follow and you shall meet abysses still,
Infinite, wayless, mute, unknowable.
Notes on Text
Circa 1934 – 35. Three handwritten manuscripts.
