Vision

The wintry sun was pale

On hill and hedge;

The wind smote with its flail

The seeded sedge;

High up above the world,

New taught to fly,

The withered leaves were hurled

About the sky;

And there, through death and dearth,

It went and came,—

The Glory of the earth

That hath no name.

I know not what it is;

I only know

It quivers in the bliss

Where roses blow,

That on the winter's breath

It broods in space,

And o'er the face of death

I see its face,

And start and stand between

Delight and dole,

As though mine eyes had seen

A living Soul.

And I have followed it,

As thou hast done,

Where April shadows flit

Beneath the sun;

In dawn and dusk and star,

In joy and fear,

Have seen its glory far

And felt it near,

And dared recall his name

Who stood unshod

Before a fireless flame,

And called it God.