Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916.
143. The Mist
I
Back of the thing you seek.
My arms are long,
Long as the reach of time and space.
Looking now and again on my face,
Catching a vital, olden glory.
I tangle and snare them all.
I am the cause of the Sphinx,
The voiceless, baffled, patient Sphinx.
I will be at the last.
I am the primal mist
And no man passes me;
My long impalpable arms
Bar them all.