The Replica
Once more the perfect pattern falls asleep,
And in the dark of sleep the replica
Springs to awareness. Light is born of dark
As the young foal beside his mother steps,
Closer than her own shadow. All runs down
To agile youth, born of laborious age.
She feels his presence in the pulse of earth,
Entranced above her pasture, how his eyes
From that new darkness at the end of time
In wonder stare, astonished by her world.
Each pristine, airy venture is prescribed
By weight of the maternal shade he left,
The circle ending where his race began.
The waterfall by falling is renewed
And still is falling. All its countless changes
Accumulate to nothing but itself.
The voice of many mountains or of one,
The dissipation of unnumbered drops
Vanishing in a dark that finds itself
In a perpetual music, and gives light
In fading always from the measuring mind:
Such is the waterfall; and though we watch it
Falling from rock to rock and always changing,
Cast to a whirlpool, pent by rock, pursuing
A reckless path, headlong in radiant mist
Leaping within the roar of its own chains,
We know it lives by being consumed, we know
Its voice is new and ancient, and its force
Flies from a single impulse that believes
Nothing is vain, though all is cast for sorrow.
There hangs the image of our life, there flies
The image of our transience. If you ask
Where may divinity or love find rest
When all moves forward to a new beginning
And each obeys one constant law of change,
I cannot answer.
Yet to man alone,
Moving in time, birth gives a timeless movement,
To taste the secret of the honeycomb
And pluck from night that blessing which outweighs
All the calamities and griefs of time.
There shines the one scene worthy of his tears,
For in that dark the greatest light was born
Which, if man sees, then time is overthrown,
And afterwards all acts are qualified
By knowledge of that interval of glory:
Music from heaven, the incomparable gift
Of God to man, in every infant's eyes
That vision which is ichor to the soul
Transmitted there by lightning majesty,
The replica, reborn, of Christian love.
Once more the perfect pattern falls asleep,
And in the dark of sleep the replica
Springs to awareness. Light is born of dark
As the young foal beside his mother steps,
Closer than her own shadow. All runs down
To agile youth, born of laborious age.
She feels his presence in the pulse of earth,
Entranced above her pasture, how his eyes
From that new darkness at the end of time
In wonder stare, astonished by her world.
Each pristine, airy venture is prescribed
By weight of the maternal shade he left,
The circle ending where his race began.
The waterfall by falling is renewed
And still is falling. All its countless changes
Accumulate to nothing but itself.
The voice of many mountains or of one,
The dissipation of unnumbered drops
Vanishing in a dark that finds itself
In a perpetual music, and gives light
In fading always from the measuring mind:
Such is the waterfall; and though we watch it
Falling from rock to rock and always changing,
Cast to a whirlpool, pent by rock, pursuing
A reckless path, headlong in radiant mist
Leaping within the roar of its own chains,
We know it lives by being consumed, we know
Its voice is new and ancient, and its force
Flies from a single impulse that believes
Nothing is vain, though all is cast for sorrow.
There hangs the image of our life, there flies
The image of our transience. If you ask
Where may divinity or love find rest
When all moves forward to a new beginning
And each obeys one constant law of change,
I cannot answer.
Yet to man alone,
Moving in time, birth gives a timeless movement,
To taste the secret of the honeycomb
And pluck from night that blessing which outweighs
All the calamities and griefs of time.
There shines the one scene worthy of his tears,
For in that dark the greatest light was born
Which, if man sees, then time is overthrown,
And afterwards all acts are qualified
By knowledge of that interval of glory:
Music from heaven, the incomparable gift
Of God to man, in every infant's eyes
That vision which is ichor to the soul
Transmitted there by lightning majesty,
The replica, reborn, of Christian love.
And in the dark of sleep the replica
Springs to awareness. Light is born of dark
As the young foal beside his mother steps,
Closer than her own shadow. All runs down
To agile youth, born of laborious age.
She feels his presence in the pulse of earth,
Entranced above her pasture, how his eyes
From that new darkness at the end of time
In wonder stare, astonished by her world.
Each pristine, airy venture is prescribed
By weight of the maternal shade he left,
The circle ending where his race began.
The waterfall by falling is renewed
And still is falling. All its countless changes
Accumulate to nothing but itself.
The voice of many mountains or of one,
The dissipation of unnumbered drops
Vanishing in a dark that finds itself
In a perpetual music, and gives light
In fading always from the measuring mind:
Such is the waterfall; and though we watch it
Falling from rock to rock and always changing,
Cast to a whirlpool, pent by rock, pursuing
A reckless path, headlong in radiant mist
Leaping within the roar of its own chains,
We know it lives by being consumed, we know
Its voice is new and ancient, and its force
Flies from a single impulse that believes
Nothing is vain, though all is cast for sorrow.
There hangs the image of our life, there flies
The image of our transience. If you ask
Where may divinity or love find rest
When all moves forward to a new beginning
And each obeys one constant law of change,
I cannot answer.
Yet to man alone,
Moving in time, birth gives a timeless movement,
To taste the secret of the honeycomb
And pluck from night that blessing which outweighs
All the calamities and griefs of time.
There shines the one scene worthy of his tears,
For in that dark the greatest light was born
Which, if man sees, then time is overthrown,
And afterwards all acts are qualified
By knowledge of that interval of glory:
Music from heaven, the incomparable gift
Of God to man, in every infant's eyes
That vision which is ichor to the soul
Transmitted there by lightning majesty,
The replica, reborn, of Christian love.
Once more the perfect pattern falls asleep,
And in the dark of sleep the replica
Springs to awareness. Light is born of dark
As the young foal beside his mother steps,
Closer than her own shadow. All runs down
To agile youth, born of laborious age.
She feels his presence in the pulse of earth,
Entranced above her pasture, how his eyes
From that new darkness at the end of time
In wonder stare, astonished by her world.
Each pristine, airy venture is prescribed
By weight of the maternal shade he left,
The circle ending where his race began.
The waterfall by falling is renewed
And still is falling. All its countless changes
Accumulate to nothing but itself.
The voice of many mountains or of one,
The dissipation of unnumbered drops
Vanishing in a dark that finds itself
In a perpetual music, and gives light
In fading always from the measuring mind:
Such is the waterfall; and though we watch it
Falling from rock to rock and always changing,
Cast to a whirlpool, pent by rock, pursuing
A reckless path, headlong in radiant mist
Leaping within the roar of its own chains,
We know it lives by being consumed, we know
Its voice is new and ancient, and its force
Flies from a single impulse that believes
Nothing is vain, though all is cast for sorrow.
There hangs the image of our life, there flies
The image of our transience. If you ask
Where may divinity or love find rest
When all moves forward to a new beginning
And each obeys one constant law of change,
I cannot answer.
Yet to man alone,
Moving in time, birth gives a timeless movement,
To taste the secret of the honeycomb
And pluck from night that blessing which outweighs
All the calamities and griefs of time.
There shines the one scene worthy of his tears,
For in that dark the greatest light was born
Which, if man sees, then time is overthrown,
And afterwards all acts are qualified
By knowledge of that interval of glory:
Music from heaven, the incomparable gift
Of God to man, in every infant's eyes
That vision which is ichor to the soul
Transmitted there by lightning majesty,
The replica, reborn, of Christian love.
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