GREEN CATEGORIES

You never heard of Kant, did you, Prytherch?
A strange man! What would he have said
Of your life here, free from the remote
War of antinomies; free also
From mind's uncertainty faced with a world
Of its own making?
                             Here all is sure;
Things exist rooted in the flesh,
Stone, tree and flower. Even while you sleep
In your low room, the dark moor exerts
Its pressure on the timbers. Space and time
Are not the mathematics that your will
Impose, but a green calendar
Your hearts observes; how else could you
Find your way home or know when to die
With the slow patience of the men who raised
This landmark in the moor's deep tides?

His logic would have failed; your mind, too,
Exposed suddenly to the cold wind
Of genius, faltered. Yet at night together
In your small garden, fenced from the wild moor's
Constant aggression, you could have been at one,
Sharing your faith over a star's blue fire.