The Unfathomed
Gracefully, grotesquely, a weed may stand.
That’s why I seek, but never find
The thing, minute as a grain of sand,
That lies and lurks within my mind.
Yet do I turn and see about
All I can feel, but never know:
Its full existence I cannot doubt
Though its solidity never shows.
There is something in the living of life
That Man will never comprehend;
A thing that mental strain and strife
Can only cause the mind to rend.
