The Secret Splendour

Bard

The nameless dust is aureoled by his mood

Of infinite reverie: the slumbrous brood

Of frail terrestrial hours grow giant wings;

Far-visioned with the homeless heart he sings.

When his unquenchable fervour seeks the pale

Tremulous brief beauty of life's yearning mouth,

Omniscient raptures touch earth's gloomy drouth,

Dim-streaming through that passion-parted veil.

Each death he dies builds more magnificent

The body of time—till the heroic grim

Flesh-spurning of his soul, grown prayer-intent,

 Lures from the mystic darkness over him

 Light like immortal youth into each limb.

March 1932

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