Temperance: A Tract for the Times
…n began. It observes, it reflects, it decides as the slave of unconscious desires, Knows neither the world nor itself, nor stands for an hour but it tires. It struts in its pageant of pride, yet at heart is aware it is vain, And its summit of proof is to prove nothing proven, and itself but insane. The soul, ah the flame! Ah, the star! The God in us shining above! The soul, beyond being and form! Then is not the name of it Love? Nay, darker and deeper the curse, more dread the abyss never plumbed, The horror ineffably huge, the agony not to be …