THE ULTIMATE (2) by JOHN COWPER POWYS

So this is the ultimate --
That we bleed with our backs to the wall,
While the rats and weasels of fate
Eat at our liver and gall;
Eat at our hearts with teeth of bane,
And tug at the sick white roots of pain
Where every man's alone,
And scrape a tune on the deep nerve-string
That is love and life and everything,
And gnaw our flesh to the bone.

Is this the ultimate?
No! This is nothing at all!
@3Some@1 human dramas stop with this;
With this some curtains fall.
But the play that the high gods love
In their Theatre of Space
Has the mind, the mind for the stage thereof
And the soul for its dancing place!
Oh shapes of terror and fear,
Oh shapes of loathing and lust,
That gibber and jibe at us @3here@1
Ye break earth's shallow crust.
Far back that stage recedes --
Who knows where that stairway goes?
Who knows where that passage leads?
And that door? Who knows? Who knows?

For the rats that again and again
Gnaw at each rib and joint
Of the vessel of our pain
Stop gasping at this point;
And in crowds they flee from the ship
That steers for the open sea
And turns the prow of its bleeding lip
Towards eternity!

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