The Secret Splendour

O where in painter's hue, musician's tone

Is the marvel touch of the myriadly Alone

Whom without hands our hunger has to seek

And whose clairaudient cave and prophet peak

Are found like a burst of self-discovery

Blotting the mind with hushed eternity?

How shall tense poet or keen sculptor know

The vault of wonder stunning all below—

A never-resting never-moving shy,

Huge mouth unheard, far sun outlasting the eye?

Only the vigil of the worshipping heart

Carries the one apocalyptic art,

The power to fashion the whole body anew.

Mirroring the All-Beautiful, echoing the All-True!

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