High Falcon & Other Poems/The Mysterious Thing

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THE MYSTERIOUS THING
What plummet, seas, to sound you—All the long reaches spun out silver-white,Turn you and cast drowned riches?Or how again, O velvet night,When the sky, stooping with its glittering load,About the elf-locks of the curious grassScatters its sparklings, will you part almostUpon the quintessential host?
Or how the figment spirit sleepingCan it render body, ghost,In its dream unseat the heavy monarch,Conjure to the bleak wild coastIts sunk, its deep delight,Its night of mists divide, recall how flittingAbove the pallid thing,Joy has an azure wing?
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