Suppose a figure in mathematics—
Say a two or a seven, a thousand, a fraction—
Could fall a victim to some attraction.
Could become so bemused as to actually seem
To have gone to sleep, to be dreaming a dream
Of an upset universe of number
Where, besieged by each other (in fear-filled slumber),
Each seemed out of place and somewhere far
From where law and order and Rightness are—
(From where each numerical entity
Remains unchanged through eternity,
Where values, relationships, stand defined
In the infinite calculus of Mind).
Oh, would that two, that seven, that fraction,
Supposing a power of false attraction,
Be more fantastic than mortals, who seem
To be real to themselves, though asleep in a dream
Of impossible schism where there can be none—
Between Mind and idea, Father and son?
