The Secret Splendour

White birds of magic depths,

Throbbing are your long throats—

But O they stretch beyond

 Earth's range of notes!

Eyes alone can gather,

From the lift of each head

And the tremble of fluff beneath

 And the cloven red

Of arching beak, the rapture

Your hearts outfling

When the lofty sun of noontide

Crowns the day king.

The mystery of your music

Our lips shall never find

 Until they leave their common

 Words utterly behind,

And a moveless silencce deepens,

Mirroring the zenith-skies

To which, white birds, your beauty

 Tunes inmost secrecies.

12.10.43

Page 5366