The Secret Splendour

I heard in gloam like a withdrawing wave A visionary flute-soul's plumbless woe

As if all beauty were one living grave.

There was a glow of tears upon that dim

Music whose myriad poignance seemed to flow,

Burdened with ages, to the far sky-rim.

Twilight hung mute and mauve: the bamboo's cry

Out of its pierced and hollow body came—

A god-dream yearning through mortality.

I knew all human breath a wounded rush

Of mateless ecstasy crying tie name

Of some remote imperishable flush.

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