The Secret Splendour

Encliffed above the day's sky-fall,

Watching a gradual hush begloam

With purple somnolence the call

And quiver of labyrinthine foam—

She stands aloof in imperturb

Dream-ecstasy of nameless jet,

A symbol-mood of shades which curb

Life's glamour to soul-silhouette.

Then all is night: her self, more grave,

With the Invisible grows one,

And each dark monotoning wave

A pulse of time-oblivion.

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