Transitional Poem
51
Above, below, the Flux tight-packedStages its sexual act—An ignominious scuffling in the darkWhere brute encounters brute baresark.
Keep to the pithead, then, nor pryBeyond what meets the eye,Since household stuff, stone walls, mountains and treesPlacard the day with certainties.
For individual truth must lieWithin diversity;Under the skin all creatures are one race,Proved integers but by their face.
So he, who learns to comprehendThe form of things, will findThey in his eye that purest star have sownAnd changed his mind to singular stone.
26
Chiefly to mind appearsThat hour on SilverhoweWhen evening's lid hung lowAnd the sky was about our ears.Buoyed between fear and loveWe watched in eastward form
