VI
The Father of Heaven.
Child-angels, from your wingsFall the roseal hoverings,Child-angels, from your wings,On the cheeks of Viola.
Angels.
Linger, rosy reflex, aQuenchless stain, on Viola!
All things being accomplished, saith the Father of Heaven.
Bear her down, and bearing, sing,Bear her down on spyless wing,Bear her down, and bearing, sing,With a sound of viola.
Angels.
Music as her name is, aSweet sound of Viola!
VIII.
Wheeling angels, past espial,Danced her down with sound of viol;Wheeling angels, past espial,Descanting on “Viola.”