If sunset clouds could grow on trees
It would but match the may in flower;
And skies be underneath the seas
No topsyturvier than a shower.
If mountains rose on wings to wander
They were no wilder than a cloud;
Yet all my praise is mean as slander,
Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.
And never more than now I know
That man’s first heaven is far behind;
Unless the blazing seraph’s bloq
Has left him in the garden blind.
Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes,
Unthinkable and unthankable King,
That though all other wonder dies
I wonder not at wondering.
2 thoughts on “The Mystery”
I wrote a poem with a similar theme and atmosphere which I also titled “The Mystery”… How funny.
Don’t you hate it when famous authors travel forward in time and steal your ideas?
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