The universe a papier-mache script,
While on it egotism’s ink was still too damp
And speculation dript.
But as I mount the Great Highway of Pearl
Which turns to diamonds where its steeds strike hoof
And chariot-wheels o’er the arena whirl
Until the course is flashing flint and fire—
How my soul thrills with this real vision of
The truth no lips can utter—with desire
To feel, not name, the Maker!