The Secret Splendour

And now that I have spoken of all things else,

How Her still heavens; core our wandering hells—

With one last beauty I will inlay my speech

And some enchanted echo strive to reach

Of secret truth learned by adorant lips

Touching those lambencies—Her finger-tips!

Inviolate tapers on Her palm of love,

They bring its many-twining mysteries of

Transmuting fate near in rich warmth, or by

A dream-uplifted queenship mightily

Bless the bare head of human penury

That grows to sudden godhood, kneeling down

With Her curved palm as its immortal crown!

Nor least Her miracle the large music-mood

When ivories of strange beatitude

Awake and quiver, th rilled to pinioned prayer

By hands that kindle through life's hueless air

A dawn eternally beyond despair.

But most divine the beauty of Her palms

Stretched unto mortal man, begging for alius:

"Behold I come who found the heavens above

Hollow without your little fragile love.

Let me not weary, unfulfilled, depart:

O house my lone perfection in your heart!"

13.9.34

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