“I may not read the graven cup
Exhaustless as a brimming bell
Distilling silver; but I drank
And all is well.
“One morn like this, bitter still,
I waited for the early stir
Of those who slept the while I watched
What muffled wonders were.
“I saw my lily on the sill;
I saw my mirror on the wall
Take light that was not; and I saw
My spectral taper tall.
“Why I had known these quiet things
Since I could speak. Yet suddenly
They all touched hands and in one breath
They spoke to me.
“I may not tell you what they said.
The strange part is that I must lie
And never tell you what we say——
These things and I.
“I only know that common things
Bear sudden little spirits set
Free by the rose of dawn and by
Night’s violet.
“I only know that when I hear
Clear tone, the haunted echoes bear
Legions of little winged feet
On printless air.
“And when warm colour weds my look
A word is uttered tremblingly,
With meaning fall—but I know not
What it may be.
“I only know that now I find
Abiding beauty everywhere;
Or if it bide not, that it fades
Is still more fair.
I long to question those I love
And yet I know not what to say;
I am alone as one upon
Some secret way.