Stroking the sky, like touch of lovers kind.

Ah, having felt thy calm kiss on mine eyes,
All night inspiring thy divine pure breath,
I shall awake as into godhood born,
And with a fresh, undaunted soul arise,
Clear as the blue convolvulus at morn.
--Dear bedfellow, deals thus thy brother, Death?




SISTER SNOW


Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase
Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow:
Whose soft, soft coming never man may know
By any sound; whose down-light touch allays
All fevers of worn earth. She clothes the days
In garments without spot, and hence doth go
Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro,
And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways.

But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies!
How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign,
Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved!
Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies.
--Wast thou not sent us, Sister, for a sign
Of that vast Mercy of God, else unconceived?