The mystery beyond all mysteries,
Of which involves the lesser in itself,
At night the shadows: Many a flaming sun,
Before the Sphinx whose eyes are firmaments,
With all the constellations, hath availed
As might the lonely fen-light to illume
The abyss whereon it hovers. All the worlds
(Where Life, a dreamer in the night of Time,
Sees an eternal dawn upon the dark
Which is the curtain of impending sleep)
Have not resolved the riddle of its silence,
And falter at the last. The very gods,
From out their alien gloom, or light unknown,
Lift eyes of mighty question, and are mute,
While all the reflex of the empty gulf
Makes live the flaming mirror of their gaze.