From cloud or blown grass tossing free,

Or frail dew quivering on leaf, rose or thorn.

What though behind me all is mist and shade,

Yet warmth of afterglow bathes all.

Hallowed spirits move and call

Each to me, a willing thrall,

With kindly speech of mountain, plain or glade.

Before me, through the veil that covers all,

Rays of a vasty Dawn strike high

To the zenith of the sky.

Intense, yet low as true love's sigh,

Prophetic voices to my spirit call.

So, though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind,

Not the less shall I

Cast on life a kindly eye,

Glad if through its mystery

Stray gleams of love and truth illume my mind.

II.

An Afternoon Soliloquy.

How good some years of life may be!

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