Martin Robertson

Now and Then


Lightly blows

the hedge-rose,

sways, clings,

white, pink,

and I think

lightly sings

“Beauty is.

Accept this.

God is not

any other

—not the Father

of Christian thought,

not the slain Son,

God in man.

The Greek saw

clearer, truer,

when he knew

long ago

in sun’s light,

behind the night’s

spangled tent,

an unmoved mover,

loved not lover,