Page:Hymns of the Marshes.djvu/29

 They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps.

Reason's not one that weeps.

What logic of greeting lies

Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the eyes?

O cunning green leaves, little masters! like as ye gloss

All the dull-tissued dark with your luminous darks that emboss

The vague blackness of night into pattern and plan,

So,

(But would I could know, but would I could know,)

With your question embroid'ring the dark of the question of man,—

So, with your silences purfling this silence of man

While his cry to the dead for some knowledge is under the ban,

Under the ban,—