In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
  I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
  I hear my echo in the echoing wood -- 
  A lord of nature weeping to a tree,

  I live between the heron and the wren,
  Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
  What's madness but nobility of soul
  At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!

  I know the purity of pure despair,
  My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
  That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
  Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

  A steady storm of correspondences!
  A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
  And in broad day the midnight come again!
  A man goes far to find out what he is--
  Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
 All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

  Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
  My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
  Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
  A fallen man, I climb out of my fear. 
  The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
  And one is One, free in the tearing wind.