The huge foreboding mind of Night, alone
In her unlit temple of eternity,
Lay stretched immobile upon Silence’ marge.
These bring to my mind the three that come much later in the third canto of the same Book:
The superconscient realms of motionless peace
Where judgment ceases and the word is mute
And the Unconceived lies pathless and alone.
The lying immobile and silent and lonely recur, though the ultimate mood is different—the all-freeing tranquillity of an unnameable Nirvana instead of the ominous profundity of a hushed emptiness.
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