The Secret Splendour

Night has a core

Sense never knows

Either through glove-worm wandering white

Or silver-calm tuberose.

Aimless the cloud

 In half-light curls,

And the cool wideness of the breeze

 Unmeaningfully whirls.

Human eyes gain,

Though long they pore,

No mood of secret paradise

 From mutable foam-roar.

But when deep drowse

 World-vision stops

Nor voices weave their weird design,

A sudden vesture drops!

Ineffable

The ecstasy

 That, stripping clamour-hue,

divines Naked eternity...

Yet all too soon

 Earth-joys dispel

The mute mysterious wonderment

 Of the vast Invisible.

Too soon the bright

 Bird-rabbles sweep

With changing colour-cry across

 The sanctuary of sleep.

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