The Secret Splendour

I was a worshipper of gorgeous sound—

The rocky reboance of a waterfall,

Immeasurable the nightwind's lion-call,

The moonward baying of the great sea-hound.

I was a devotee of splendid hush—

Silvery moonglobe's surf-awaking sleep,

Purple precipitous lone-brooding steep

Of massive hills where wind and water rush.

But now, O Lord, Your puissances have grown

Such intimate love that my soul-dream has grasped

Grandeur through briefest beauty: I have viewed

 A flying heart-beat of infinitudie

 In every voiceful wing-waft and have known

Ages of joy from tiny blossoms clasped!

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