a flirtation with
most violent Volatility!          

       ... O God's self-
intriguing footsteps; the slanting sands
of our hands ever-trying to bring
evenhandedness to a roundabout self-
centered existence                     

      --With great abandonment
in some one or another God's languageless

words O so reasonlessly begot that
nothing ever seems genuine which is contrived
by us,                                           
          nothing achieves Perfection
made from our chaste Conception (overlaid
with any Whatever art survives from such
Changeable Start),                        

   ... gemmed with Joy, forever
melting inside our cares like crucible,

the startling, unexpected graveyards of our any
Guess, watered with the sweat O Hope

th'hypothesis & like kittens all our concerns,
around the poplars our poems

slumb'ring through intricate nightmares
distrusting Th'Sometimes, while

Dissonant Mutability's the compact of
our steadiest, stablest energies:

No sooner do we free ourselves from Beauty
(& Merit's idle arts) which from their infinite

still press after this Momentary Man, than

all our straightest, strongest, up-
right stands are bent, like seaweed about our necks

the poems our words, the brimming Beauty of
the engravings of God, fading with all our

agonies, wanting to outlive the Light, ever-
plunged into the unquenching oils of Night

unquenched, we walk our knees to Life's greatest
most singular astonishments, then crawl away

heads-high from th'Whatever dead accomplishments.