The Secret Splendour

(Suggested by a phrase from Milton)

The "utmost Indian isle,

Taprobane",

 Where the soul is ringed by the coolness

Of a sleeping sea—

There the mute sages go,

Washing away A

ll touch of colour and climbing

The nameless gray

Of hills that give no answer

Across the foam

 To the cry of wanderer ages

For an ultimate home.

But, reaching those still peaks,

Austerity's end,

They bring from the face of granite

The smile of a friend!

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