[BNP/E3, 49A4 – 34]

20-6-1915

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What becomes of my thoughts when once they’re thought

And where live they when yet unthought by

Do they like corpses dike in some sea’s spot? Were

Do they inhabit some eternity

Or are themselves real things, things carnally

Though of matter, flesh we {…} not?

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Do they pass through my soul from one place to 

Another? Or are they more than as stalked flowers?

Do they rise in me like senses {…} or do

They come from outside me with the real hours

And are merely seen by me, and by others

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These things may all be true for all’s unknown

Yet the truth must be other and more strange

Than all our soul can figure, dream and arrange

We think all lives upon the shelves or worn

In thought… All things do their selves strange

From us. God’s mystery is all that is known.