The Secret Splendour

The body's fire takes birth to Till a void

The half-awakened soul leaves in all love—

 But our delight has room for not one kiss!

Lip-parted quietudes listening afar,

The hours go drunken with a honeyed hum

Of heartbeats round immortal fragrances

In a spirit wideness sown with spirit stars.

We build no more, to catch undying Beauty,

A transitory tangle of desire.

Does flame ache to possess its own warm gold

Or billow strain to seek its foamy blue?

What shall we thirst for, whither shall we burn,

Now that the flesh-garbs fall—a weight of sleep—

And the one God in us stands glowing bare?

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