Sonnet XII

As the lone, frighted user of a

Suddenly turns round, nothing to detect,

Yet on his fear's sense keepeth still the

Of that brink-nothing he doth but suspect;

And the cold terror moves to him more

Of something that from nothing casts a spell,

That, when he moves, to fright more is not there,

And's only visible when

So I upon the world turn round in thought,

And nothing viewing do no courage take,

But my more terror, from no seen cause got,

To that felt corporate emptiness forsake,  And draw my sense of mystery's horror from  Seeing no mystery's mystery alone.