She is not Folly -- that I know. <br />Her steadfast eyelids tell me so <br />When, at the hour the lights divide, <br />She steals as summonsed to my side. <br /> <br />When, finger on the pursed lip <br />In secret, mirthful fellowship, <br />She, heralding new -- framed delights, <br />Breathes, "This shall be a Night of Nights!" <br /> <br />Then, out of Time and out of Space, <br />Is built an Hour and a Place <br />Where all an earnest, baffled Earth <br />Blunders and trips to make us mirth; <br /> <br />Whence from the trivial flux of Things, <br />Rise inconceived miscarryings, <br />Outrageous but immortal, shown, <br />Of Her great love, to me alone... <br /> <br />She is not Wisdom, but, maybe, <br />Wiser than all the Norns is She: <br />And more than Wisdom I prefer <br />To wait on Her, -- to wait on Her!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-playmate/
