I had a wordless tryst with him... 
He was a saint immerged in peace;
His face no brush can ever limn.

He was a breathless sky of calm; 
I flew into its depth of peace. 
Above the earth of raging storm.

A far hamlet of hoary dust,
With bowing boughs of tall green trees
I came to, driven by the gust

Of questing passion for the truth, 
That, undefined, does always tease 
The mind into a roving wrath.

Debate could never the puzzle solve, 
Only confusions new would seize
And round and round once more revolve

Till floating on I came to him. 
Then did my depthless coiling cease, 
Hushed to a bliss of bracing beam.
His face no brush can ever limn.