Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,
In nameless print—that I have no devotion;
But set those persons down with me to pray,
And you shall see who has the properest notion
Of getting into heaven the shortest way;
My altars are the mountains and the ocean,
Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole,
Who hath produced, and will receive the soul.
There’s something dark in me, deep under all my thoughts, something I can’t measure out with thoughts, a sort of life that can’t be expressed in words and which is my life, all the same.
For no matter how much a work of art may appear to be a historical datum, and
thus a possible object of scholarly/scientific research, it is always the case
that the work says something to us, and it does so in such a way that its
statement can never be exhaustively expressed in a concept.
One died, and the soul was wrenched outOf the other in life, who, walking the streetsWrapped in an identity like a coat, sees on and onThe same corners, volumetrics, shadowsUnder trees.
Most of us may not believe in the
story of a Devil to whom one can sell one’s soul, but those who must
know something about the soul (considering that as clergymen, his-
torians, and artists they draw a good income from it) all testify that
the. soul has been destroyed by mathematics and that mathematics is
the source of an evil intelligence that while making man the lord
of the earth has also made him the slave of his machines.
Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Lots of people talk and few of them know,
soul of a woman was created below.