The Room

Through that window, all else being extinct     Except itself and me, I saw the struggle     Of darkness against darkness. Within the room     It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw     How order might, if chaos wished, become:     And saw the darkness crush upon itself,     Contracting powerfully; it was as if     It killed itself, slowly: and with much pain.     Pain. The scene was pain, and nothing but pain.     What else, when chaos draws all forces inward     To shape a single leaf? . . .     For the leaf came     Alone and shining in the empty room;     After a while the twig shot downward from it;     And from the twig a bough; and then the trunk,     Massive and coarse; and last the one black root.     The black root cracked the walls. Boughs burst the window:     The great tree took possession.     Tree of trees!     Remember (when time comes) how chaos died     To shape the shining leaf. Then turn, have courage,     Wrap arms and roots together, be convulsed     With grief, and bring back chaos out of shape.     I will be watching then as I watch now.     I will praise darkness now, but then the leaf.