A LL is too little that the world can give:

Its power and knowledge are the gifts of Time

It is some utter truth of what we are;

Hidden by its own works it seemed far off,

Impenetrable, occult, voiceless, obscure.

The Presence was lost by which all things have charm,

The Glory lacked of which they are dim signs.

The world lived on made empty of its Cause,

Like Love when the Beloved's face is gone.

The labour to know seemed a vain strife of Mind;

All knowledge ended in the Unknowable:

The effort to rule seemed a vain pride of Will;

A trivial achievement scorned by Time,

A silence settled on his striving heart;

Absolved from the voices of the world's desire,

Nothing could satisfy but its delight:

Its absence left the greatest actions dull,  

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Its presence made the smallest seem divine.

When it was there, the heart's abyss was filled;

But when the uplifting Deity withdrew,

Existence lost its aim in the Inane.

The order of the immemorial planes,

The godlike fullness of the instruments

Were turned to props for an impermanent scene.

But who that mightiness was he knew not yet.

Impalpable, yet filling all that is,

It made and blotted out a million worlds

And took and lost a thousand shapes and names.

It wore the guise of an indiscernible Vast,

Or was a subtle kernel in the soul:

A distant greatness left it huge and dim,

A mystic closeness shut it sweetly in:

It seemed sometimes a figment or a robe

Then to the ascent there came a mighty term:

A height was reached where nothing made could live,

A line where every hope and search must cease

Neared some intolerant bare Reality,

A zero formed pregnant with boundless change.

On a dizzy verge where all disguises fail

And human mind must abdicate in Light

Or die like a moth in the naked blaze of Truth,

He stood compelled to a tremendous choice.

All he had been and all towards which he grew

Must now be left behind or else transform

Into a self of That which has no name.

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Alone and fronting an intangible Force

Which offered nothing to the grasp of Thought,

His spirit faced the adventure of the Inane.

Abandoned by the worlds of form he strove.

A fruitful world-wide Ignorance foundered there;

Thought's long far-circling journey touched its close

And ineffective paused the actor Will.

The symbol modes of being helped no more,

The structures Nescience builds collapsing failed,

And even the spirit that holds the universe

Fainted in luminous insufficiency.

In an abysmal lapse of all things built

Transcending every perishable support

And joining at last its mighty origin,

The separate self must melt or be reborn

Into a Truth beyond the mind's appeal.

All glory of outline, sweetness of harmony,

Rejected like a grace of trivial notes,

Expunged from Being's silence nude, austere,

Died into a fine and blissful Nothingness.

The Demiurges lost their names and forms,

The great schemed worlds that they had planned and wrought

Passed, taken and abolished one by one.

The universe removed its coloured veil,

And at the unimaginable end

Of the huge riddle of created things

Appeared the far-seen Godhead of the whole,

His feet firm-based on Life's stupendous wings,

Omnipotent or lonely seer of Time,

Inward, inscrutable, with diamond gaze.

Attracted by the unfathomable regard

The unsolved slow cycles to their fount returned

To rise again from that invisible sea.

All from his puissance born was now undone;

Nothing remained the cosmic Mind conceives.

Eternity prepared to fade and seemed

A hue and imposition on the Void,

Space was the fluttering of a dream that sank

Before its ending into Nothing's deeps.

The spirit that dies not and the Godhead's self

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Seemed myths projected from the Unknowable;

From It all sprang, in It is called to cease.

An Everlastingness cut off from Time;

A strange sublime unalterable Peace

Silent rejected from it world and soul.

A stark companionless Reality

Answered at last to his soul's passionate search:

Passionless, wordless, absorbed in fathomless peace,

It brooded inscrutable and intangible

It had no kinship with the universe:

There was no act, no movement in its Vast:

Life's question met by its silence died on her lips,

Finding no sanction of supernal Light:

There was no mind there with its need to know,

There was no second, it had no partner or peer;

Only itself was real to itself.

A pure existence safe from thought and mood,

A consciousness of unshared immortal bliss,

It dwelt aloof in its bare infinite,

One and unique, unutterably sole. .

A Being formless, featureless and mute

That knew itself by its own timeless self,

Aware for ever in its motionless depths,

Uncreating, uncreated and unborn,

The One by whom all live, who lives by none,

An immeasurable luminous secrecy

Guarded by the veils of the Unmanifest,

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Above the changing cosmic interlude

END OF CANTO ONE 

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