The Secret Splendour

Everything points now

Somewhere, somewhere,

Silverly straining

Through the dusk air.

The boughs have lifted

Pearl-tipped flames,

Tremulous, leafy,

 Finding their aims.

From the sea rise up

Fingers of foam

Trying to pierce through

The veil of gloam.

The wind has drawn out

 In calm cloud-streams

A beautiful pallor

Of guiding dreams.

And the lone crescent's

Two-horned light,

Where is it calling

The eyes of night?

Are they all pointing

 Words to my mind,

Poems unwritten

Where I shall find

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In each pure cadence

A fall of foot

Bringing earthward

A mystical mute

Ecstasy, lover,

Immortal mate

To the poignant sorrow

 Of human fate?

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