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THE SENSE OF MYSTERY.
I would not lose the sense of mystery
That broods about our little lives and springs
Eternal from the unknown heart of things,
Nor miss by rude familiarity
Perception of the finer harmony
That underlies all dissonance and brings
The unseen to our consciousness and flings
A glory round our way continually.
For they alone shall win their happiness
Who still make room for things inscrutable;
And he who sees the greater in the less—
Who finds in folded leaf or purple bell
The Infinite—doth in himself possess
Some kinship with the daily miracle.
