If that apparent part of life's
Our tingled flesh-sense circumscribes were
By aught save reflex and co-carnal sight,
Joy, flesh and life might prove but a gross screen.
Haply Truth's body is no eyable being,
Appearance even as appearance lies,
Haply our close, dark, vague, warm sense of
Is the choked vision of blindfolded eyes.
Wherefrom what comes to thought's sense of life?
Nought.
All is either the irrational world we
Or some aught-else whose being-unknown doth
Its use for our thought's use.
Whence taketh me A qualm-like ache of life, a body-deep Soul-hate of what we seek and what we weep.
