Poems (Procter)/Incompleteness
INCOMPLETENESS.
OTHING resting in its own completenessCan have worth or beauty: but aloneBecause it leads and tends to farther sweetness,Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;But is hidden in her tender leaningTo the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowlyInto Day, which floods the world with light;Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holyJust because it ends in starry Night.
Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrowFrom Strife, that in a far-off future lies;And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow)Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes.
Life is only bright when it proceedethTowards a truer, deeper Life above;Human Love is sweetest when it leadethTo a more divine and perfect Love.
Learn the mystery of Progression duly:Do not call each glorious change, Decay;But know we only hold our treasures truly,When it seems as if they passed away.
Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;In that want their beauty lies: they rollTowards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.