If sunset clouds could grow on trees <br />It would but match the may in flower; <br />And skies be underneath the seas <br />No topsyturvier than a shower. <br /> <br />If mountains rose on wings to wander <br />They were no wilder than a cloud; <br />Yet all my praise is mean as slander, <br />Mean as these mean words spoken aloud. <br /> <br />And never more than now I know <br />That man's first heaven is far behind; <br />Unless the blazing seraph's blow <br />Has left him in the garden blind. <br /> <br />Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes, <br />Unthinkable and unthankable King, <br />That though all other wonder dies <br />I wonder at not wondering.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mystery-18/
