Poems (Jackson)/Form
Appearance
FORM.
HIDDEN secret of all things!Thy triumph, most triumphant, bringsNo sound of syllable of nameTo mark the law by which it came;The subtle point of difference,Which made the joy of joy intense,The grief of grief too great to bear,Beauty than beauty's self more fair.
No skill does more, at best, than workBlindly, in hope to find where lurkThy undiscovered charm and spell;No prophecies thine hour foretell;No hindrances thine hour avert;No purpose brings thee good or hurt;Thy life knows not of wish or will;Inherent growths thy growth fulfil.
No man dared say to curve, to line,"Be beautiful, by word of mine!I crown thee lovely on the earth!I am thy Lord of life and birth."Before all men the line, the curve,Stood suddenly, and said:Stood suddenly, and said:"PreserveWhat joy ye can. O blind of eye!Behold us once before ye die!"O hidden secret of all things!O kingdom earlier than kings!Before earth was, yea, and beforeThe Heavens, Eternity forboreAll haste, waiting each sign and bond,For seal of thee, to set beyondAll time's impatience the decreeAnd record of thy sovereignty!