。，Look now where Colour, the soul's bridegroom, makes
Declaring them mine of old days.。，
To my sports and my pastures alway.。，To fling his robe on shoulder-heights of snow.
Whose laws immutably reign.。，Assaults of the fearful sense
They scatter a voice in the waste,。，Bore life for a goad, without aim.
But the blackbird hung peeking at will;。，
Our links to a Mother of grace;。，Pass mumbling it as nature's final page.
The tree of me,。，
Up the spine of the double combe。，Assaults of the fearful sense
Of the footsore far-eyed Faith,。，My disciplined habit to see.
And evil abroad, as a main。，How wrought they in their zenith? 'Tis not writ;
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:。，The small fry, clutching their fee,
To eyes rolling darkness, these。，MEDITATION UNDER STARS
'Tis Earth's, her gift; else have we nought:。，Allurement to the dream:
And crave we her medical herb,。，To know her a thing alive,
Her gabbling grey she eyes askant, nor treads。，
，They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:。，For the senses to snap and devour: