The Secret Splendour

A Black Swan broods over the waters

And the brightness is stilled by his shape....

O Mystery drowsing the waters,

Will ever your night undrape?...

But I care not if never naked

You stand of your dress of doom—

You widen, a lovely forgetting,

And the heart is drunk with your gloom.

Drowned are all throbbing planets

In the viewless depth of your wine—

O nectarous numbing quencher

Of my reverie's skyward shine!

Not death is your beauty's shadow:

For those who have made their eyes

Your two vague wings of farness,

Each tear of mortality dries.

Page 374