To measures fine and fleet.

To shelter fancies sweet.

 Securely looks the city down On her own fret and toil; She hides a heart of perfect peace Behind her veins' turmoil— A breathing-space removed apart From out their stir and soil. 

On her own fret and toil;

Behind her veins' turmoil—

From out their stir and soil.

 Our reverent feet that golden day Stood in a quiet place, That held repressed—I know not what Of such a poignant grace As falls, if dumb with life untold, Upon a human face. 

Stood in a quiet place,

Of such a poignant grace

Upon a human face.

 To fashion silence into words The softest, teach me how! I know the place is Silence caught A-dreaming, then and now. I only know 't was blue above, And it was green below. 

The softest, teach me how!

A-dreaming, then and now.

And it was green below.

 And where the deepening sunshine found And held a holy mood, Lowly and old, of outline quaint, In mingled brick and wood, Clasped in the arms of ivy vines A nestling cottage stood: 

And held a holy mood,

In mingled brick and wood,

A nestling cottage stood:

 A thing so hidden and so fair, So pure that it would seem Hewn out of nothing earthlier Than a young poet's dream, Of nothing sadder than the lights That through the ivies gleam. 

So pure that it would seem

 Prev. P 32/63 next