The Silver Call

There is a godhead of unrealised things
To which Time's splendid gains are hoarded dross;
A cry seems near, a rustle of silver wings
Calling to heavenly joy by earthly loss.

All eye has seen and all the ear has heard
Is a pale illusion by some greater voice
 And mightier vision; no sweet sound or word,
No passion of hues that make the heart rejoice

 Can equal these diviner ecstasies.
 A Mind beyond our mind has sole the ken
 Of those yet unimagined harmonies,
The fate and privilege of unborn men.

As rain-thrashed mire the marvel of the rose,
Earth waits that distant marvel to disclose.
                         23.3.44