SUNRISE 241 



They rise not from reason, but deeper, inconsequent 

 deeps. 



Reason's not one that weeps. 

 What logic of greeting lies 



Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the 

 eyes? 



O cunning green leaves, little masters! like as ye 



gloss 

 All the dull-tissued dark with your luminous darks 



that emboss 



The vague blackness of night into pattern and 

 plan, 

 So 



(But would I could know, but would I could know) 

 With your question embroid'ring the dark of the 



question of man 



So, with your silences purfling this silence of man. 

 While his cry to the dead for some knowledge is 

 under the ban, 

 Under the ban 

 So, ye have wrought me 



Designs on the night of our knowledge yea, ye 

 have taught me, 



So, 

 That haply we know somewhat more than we know. 



Ye lisperers, whisperers, singers in storms, 

 Ye consciences murmuring faiths under forms, 

 Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves, 



