The Secret Splendour

There is a falling-off

From true infinity

 Until you heed and hail

Its glory in forms that die.

They are step on step by which

From point to point of Time

Godhead moves through a chequered course

Of lowly or sublime

Back to the eternal hush

It never really left

Even though by each small cry it seems

Of plenitude bereft.

But if your heart is caught

In forms that flame and fade

And the slightest aching shifts

From the maker to the made,

You'll never plumb he depth

Of everlastingness.

Accept His world but give no pledge

To a beauty that is less

 Than the Unborn, the Untimed

Who is nothing if not all

That your heart in the midst of hours

Chooses to crave and call.

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