from Odes: 15 ["Nothing"]

Nothing substance utters or time stills and restrains joins design and supple measure deftly as thought’s intricate polyphonic score dovetails with the tread sensuous things keep in our consciousness. Celebrate man’s craft and the word spoken in shapeless night, the sharp tool paring away waste and the forms cut out of mystery! When taut string’s note passes ears’ reach or red rays or violet fade, strong over unseen forces the word ranks and enumerates... mimes clouds condensed and hewn hills and bristling forests, steadfast corn in its season and the seasons in their due array, life of man’s own body and death... The sound thins into melody, discourse narrowing, craft failing, design petering out. Ears heavy to breeze of speech and thud of the ictus.