On a Grey Thread/Futility
Futility
Under all beauty that I know,All vital dreams,Sharp loveliness,Under the hair, the lips of laughter,The dusk-dim eyes of pain,Lurks the single thing I fear,Hard-mouthed, implacable-eyed,The monster,The satyr-thing, futility.
I cannot look on lovelinessOr burn the flame of ecstasy,Or even dream for very long,Without the annihilating fearThat it will suddenly tear some veilAnd bare its dreadful face.
When I am light with the exaltationMysteriously born of worship,Filled like a cup with the wine of wonderAt some great cloudy bloom of color,Or learning the infinite secrets of raptureWith bared heart held to love's lips—Light's eyes are suddenly blinded,Life gropes in empty twilight,And the mocking mouth of the satyr-thingLeers at me from a veil of dust.
Shuddering I crouch to earth,Trembling lest it come more near,Trembling lest it stretch a handAnd touch me! Choked by an agonyOf horror lest its deadly eyesShould shrivel my flaming heart of dream.Sometimes I think the universe,Mind, passion, beauty, wisdom, light,All fathomless life-wonders,Serve only for its cloak.
It lurks like death in everythingThat has a singing heart:In all exultant voices,In all desire's burning eyes,In youth's true soul,In love's slim hands.
Sometimes I think it is life's core,This mocking-mouth'd implacable ghost.Sometimes I think it is life's core.Sometimes I think it must be God.