letra de g. k. chesterton - the mystery - ghizela rowe
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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
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