The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus— til she rises The Vassal of the snow— The lips at Hallelujah Long years of practise bore Til bye and bye these Bargemen Walked singing on the shore.
Pearls are the Diver’s farthings Extorted from the Sea— Pinions— the Seraph’s wagon Pedestrian once— as we— Night is the morning’s Canvas Larceny— legacy— Death, but our rapt attention To Immortality.
My figures fail to tell me How far the Village lies— Whose peasants are the Angels— Whose Cantons dot the skies— My Classics veil their faces— My faith that Dark adores— Which from its solemn abbeys Such ressurection pours.
