  O Never-Known, it may be Never-to-Know, You are the murmur of colour in the East When upon twilit clouds faint ghosts of sunset Sigh from the Western rose-gardens. Or the thin rippled tune Of imperceptible Æolian harps Swept by a wind out of the misty sphere Just higher than the summit of the soul— Music half-heard, song uncontainable. Or you are violets whispering in the dark. You are unshapen in the eyes of me, But in my breast I carry all the breath And sound and colour of you, Never-Known, |
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