The Secret Splendour

A golden hand has plucked the deep heart's string

To outward space, but a dark hand has kept

It ever drawn away from the inward rest.

How shall it tremble into melody

If never the grip lets go? The plucking power

Was meant for music, not for the outward's spell....

Nor must the string be loosened to fall asleep

After one ravishing note uttering all heaven:

The rapturous rest was made to be pulled forth,

Since not else God can grow world-harmony.

A traffic to and fro 'twixt heaven and earth

And not earth-tension or heaven-calm is the goal.

Music for ever, music above all,

Music to marry the two extremes of Self,

Is the aim of time and the game of eternity.

O let soul live uncaught without or within

And the golden hand fulfil its perfect dream!

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