[BNP/E3, 77 – 74]

Thought.

How great a thing is thought! as through the gloom

Of stormy skies the sudden lightning curls,

As slow the storm in patience grim unfurls

Its mighty volume of resounding boom,

Thought comes, more bright than Reason's sun which hurls

Its constant beams around till verge of doom -

Or as the silver‑chequered shades which loom

'Neath Fancy's moon in windy queerest whirls.

Thought comes, but blinds the glaring mental sight,

But shakes our mind with echoes of its roar

And bears its force beyond our visual scope;

Horrible beauty and unpitying might

That often kills and tears, to rise no more,

The frailest fabric of a dreary hope.

Alexander Search.

1904.