![The Mystery, By: G.K. Chesterton](https://i0.wp.com/poetrycatalog.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/The-Mystery-By-G.K.-Chesterton.jpg?resize=750%2C420&ssl=1)
If sunset clouds could grow on trees
It would but match the may in flower;
And skies be underneath the seas
No topsyturvier than a shower.
If mountains rose on wings to wander
They were no wilder than a cloud;
Yet all my praise is mean as slander,
Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.
And never more than now I know
That man’s first heaven is far behind;
Unless the blazing seraph’s blow
Has left him in the garden blind.
Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes,
Unthinkable and unthankable King,
That though all other wonder dies
I wonder at not wondering.