There lived, I know not when, never perhaps-
But the fact is he lives- an unknow king,
Whose kingdom was the strange Kingdom of Gaps.
He was lord of what is twixt thing and thing,
Of interbeings, of that part of us
That lies between our waking and our sleep,
Between our silence and our speech, between
Us and the counciousness of us; and thus
A strange mute kingdom did that weird king keep
Sequestered from our thought of time and scene.
Those supreme purposes tat never reach
The deed -between them and the deed undone-
He rules, uncrowned. He is the mystery which
Is between eyes and sight, nor blind, nor seeing,
Himself is never ended nor begun,
Above his own void presence empty shelf.
All He is but a chasm of his own being,
The lidless box holding not-being's no-pelf.
All think that he is God, except himself.
Questa opera è distribuita con licenza Creative Commons Attribuzione - Non commerciale 3.0 Unported.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.
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