Vision
The wintry sun was paleOn hill and hedge;The wind smote with its flailThe seeded sedge;High up above the world,New taught to fly,The withered leaves were hurledAbout the sky;And there, through death and dearth,It went and came,—The Glory of the earthThat hath no name.
I know not what it is;I only knowIt quivers in the blissWhere roses blow,That on the winter’s breathIt broods in space,And o’er the face of deathI see its face,And start and stand betweenDelight and dole,As though mine eyes had seenA living Soul.
And I have followed it,As thou hast done,Where April shadows flitBeneath the sun;In dawn and dusk and star,In joy and fear,Have seen its glory farAnd felt it near,And dared recall his nameWho stood unshodBefore a fireless flame,And called it God.