THEY haunt me, they tease me with hinted Withheld revelations, The songs that I may not utter; They lead me, they flatter, they woo me.
I follow, I follow, I snatch At the veils of their secrets in vain — For lo! they have left me and vanished, The songs that I cannot sing.
There are visions elusive that come With a quiver and shimmer of wings;— Shapes shadows and shapes, and the murmur Of voices;—
Shapes, that out of the twilight Leap, and with gesture appealing Seem to deliver a message, And are gone‘ twixt a breath and a breath;—
Shapes that race in with the waves Moving silverly under the moon, And are gone ere they break into foam on the rocks And recede;—
Breathings of love from invisible Flutes, Blown somewhere out in the tender Dusk,
That die on the bosom of Silence;— Formless, And fleeter than thought, Vaguer than thought or emotion,
What are these visitors? Out of the vast and uncharted Realms that encircle the visible world, With a glimmer of light on their pinions,
They rush... They waver, they vanish, Leaving me stirred with a dream of the ultimate beauty, A sense of the ultimate music,
I never shall capture;— They are Beauty, Formless and tremulous Beauty, Beauty unborn;
Beauty as yet unappareled In thought; Beauty that hesitates, Falters,
Withdraws from the verge of birth, Flutters, Retreats from the portals of life;— O Beauty for ever uncaptured!
O songs that I never shall sing!
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