THE MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES
I
Of all the planets yearning—as they run
In magic round still ending, still begun—
To break the spell that holds them from the sun,
Does any guard the secret of all things?
Does some Star Emperor, other than the one
To which the lark sweet adoration sings,
Draw wiser worlds than ours around his throne?
Or must our hope still further stretch 1ts wings
On to that Point of Mystery, unknown
Magnet of all the suns whose fiery cars
Whirl myriads after them of unimagined stars?
In magic round still ending, still begun—
To break the spell that holds them from the sun,
Does any guard the secret of all things?
Does some Star Emperor, other than the one
To which the lark sweet adoration sings,
Draw wiser worlds than ours around his throne?
Or must our hope still further stretch 1ts wings
On to that Point of Mystery, unknown
Magnet of all the suns whose fiery cars
Whirl myriads after them of unimagined stars?
II
Or seek the Cause of Causes far behind,
The grave-clothes of a dateless past unwind,
Till nothing but an embryo's dust we find,
Which knew not whatwe know? Say, can we reach,
The grave-clothes of a dateless past unwind,
Till nothing but an embryo's dust we find,
Which knew not whatwe know? Say, can we reach,
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