SAFE

My dream-fruit tree a palace bore

In stone's reality,

And friends and treasure, art and lore,

Came in to dwell with me.

But palaces for gods are made;

I shrank to man, or less;

Gold-barriered, yet chill, afraid,

My soul shook shelterless.

I found a cottage in a wood,

Warmed by a hearth and maid,

And fed and slept, and said‘ twas good,—

Ah, love-nest in the shade!

The walls grew close, the roof pressed low,

Soft arms my jailers were;

My naked soul arose to go,

And shivered bright and bare.

No more I sought for covert kind;

The blast blew on my head;

And lo, with tempest and with wind

I felt me garmented.

Here on the hills the writhing storm

Cloaks well and shelters me;

I wrap me round and I am warm,

Warm for eternity.