Eleanor Farjeon

Never-Known

O Never-Known, it may be Never-to-Know,
You are the murmur of colour in the East
When upon twilit clouds faint ghosts of sunset
Sigh from the Western rose-gardens.

Or the thin rippled tune
Of imperceptible Æolian harps
Swept by a wind out of the misty sphere
Just higher than the summit of the soul--
Music half-heard, song uncontainable.

Or you are violets whispering in the dark.

You are unshapen in the eyes of me,
But in my breast I carry all the breath
And sound and colour of you, Never-Known,
It may be Never-to-Know.