In shadowed regions of the soul
Upwell the tributary streams
Of humankind, and all we seem
Is but a glimmer of the whole.
One river surges to and fro,
Another trickling in the deep;
The shadowed soul begins to weep,
The riverbank to overflow.
One turning backward on itself,
Its all – to no avail – conveyed;
Another sees the light, but they
Are one – and both – and all the self.
Thus man is shadow, light and gloom:
To his intrinsic self averse,
Beneath his radiance dispersed,
And absentee to every room.
Thus man is wolf and howl and moon,
All seeing eye and lord of hunts;
The pilgrim and the star at once,
Of flesh and welkin matter hewn.
Thus man is Harlequin, himself
Pierrot too, and Columbine;
He loves, and does his soul enshrine:
His yearning set upon itself.
Thus man is but a fleeting role:
Illusory conceit to mask
Our darker selves – the truths which bask
In shadowed regions of the soul.