Pascal' had his gulf, moving where he moved.
Alas! all is abyss-all action, dream
Desire, speech! and many a time 1 feel
My hair stand up, brushed by the wind of Fear.
On high, low, everywhere, the depth, the shore
The silence, frightening and bewitching space...
Deep in my nights, God with a master's hand
Draws me a nightmare, ceaseless, manifold.
Sleep frightens me, as one feels loathing at
A great hole leading who knows where; I see
Only the infinite through all windows,
And my spirit, haunted by vertigo,
Envies non-being its insentience.
- Ah! never from beings, numbers to be free!
Přeložil James McGowan