| THE AWFUL shadow of some unseen Power | |
| Floats though unseen among us,—visiting | |
| This various world with as inconstant wing | |
| As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,— | |
| Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, | 5 |
| It visits with inconstant glance | |
| Each human heart and countenance; | |
| Like hues and harmonies of evening,— | |
| Like clouds in starlight widely spread,— | |
| Like memory of music fled,— | 10 |
| Like aught that for its grace may be | |
| Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. |
Hymn to Hyperobjects
It's almost a kind of inverted Platonism isn't it? Where the forms are real objects so massive and strange we can hardly see them. Time to break out the Shelley.
