Pascal had his abyss, it followed him.
But the abyss is All—action and dream,
language, desire!—and who could count the times
the wind of Fear has made my blood run cold!
Each way I turn, above me and below,
tempting and terrible the silence, the space. . .
By night God traces with a knowing hand
unending nightmares on unending dark.
I balk at sleep as if it were a hole
filled with horror, leading God knows where;
my windows open on Infinity,
and haunted by its vertigo my mind
envies the indifference of the void:
will Numbers and Beings never set me free!