Classic Poem

O HIDDEN secret of all things!
Thy triumph, most triumphant, brings
No sound of syllable of name
To mark the law by which it came;
The subtle point of difference,
Which made the joy of joy intense,
The grief of grief too great to bear,
Beauty than beauty's self more fair.

No skill does more, at best, than work
Blindly, in hope to find where lurk
Thy undiscovered charm and spell;
No prophecies thine hour foretell;
No hindrances thine hour avert;
No purpose brings thee good or hurt;
Thy life knows not of wish or will;
Inherent growths thy growth fulfil.
No man dared say to curve, to line,
“Be beautiful, by word of mine!
I crown thee lovely on the earth!
I am thy Lord of life and birth.”
Before all men the line, the curve,
Stood suddenly, and said:
“Preserve
What joy ye can. O blind of eye!
Behold us once before ye die!”
O hidden secret of all things!
O kingdom earlier than kings!
Before earth was, yea, and before
The Heavens, Eternity forbore
All haste, waiting each sign and bond,
For seal of thee, to set beyond
All time's impatience the decree
And record of thy sovereignty!”