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Poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton 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. Gilbert Keith Chesterton Gilbert Keith Chesterton's other poems:
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