Gilbert Keith Chesterton (Гилберт Кит Честертон)

The Mystery

If sunset clouds could grow on trees
It would but match the may in flower;
And skies be underneath the seas
No topsyturvier than a shower.

If mountains rose on wings to wander
They were no wilder than a cloud;
Yet all my praise is mean as slander,
Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.

And never more than now I know
That man's first heaven is far behind;
Unless the blazing seraph's blow
Has left him in the garden blind.

Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes,
Unthinkable and unthankable King,
That though all other wonder dies
I wonder at not wondering. 

1. The Deluge
2. On the Disastrous Spread of Aestheticism in all Classes
3. The Great Minimum
4. The Wife of Flanders
5. The New Freethinker

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