The Secret Splendour

Poems

Poems are dreams

That tear apart from our sleep

To walk the world upon their vibrant way

To break into a thousand slumbers' deep.

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All poetry is but a tongue a-thrill

 Between the unsaid and the unsayable. 

The mystic ray comes stealthily to earth—

Subtle the spirit murdering our gloom—

A scrupulous crime-artist, it prefers

To loud extravagance of bludgeon-stroke

 The lean stiletto's swift economy.

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