INCOMPLETENESS.
Reading edition
Nothing resting in its own completeness Can have worth or beauty: but alone Because it leads and tends to further sweetness, Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; But is hidden in her tender leaning To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly Into day, which floods the world with light; Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy Just because it ends in starry Night. Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow From Strife, that in a far-off future lies; And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes. Life is only bright when it proceedeth Towards a truer, deeper Life above; Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth To a more divine and perfect Love. Learn the mystery of Progression duly: Do not call each glorious change, Decay; But know we only hold our treasures truly, When it seems as if they passed away. Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; In that want their beauty lies: they roll Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. —Adelaide Procter.