en calm was weaving,
All filigree'd with dawn, that like a braid
Surmounted her pure brow, which still was hidden
Half in the shade.

Woven of linen were her veil and sandals.
But, twined 'mid boughs of foliage, on their hem
The theologic Virtues Three were painted;
Hearts set about with gold encompassed them.

Her silken hair, slow rippling, from her shoulder
Down to the mosses of the sward did reach;
The childhood of her eyes disclosed a silence
More sweet than speech.

My arms outstretched, and all my soul upstraining.
Then did I rise,
With haggard yearning, toward the soul suspended
There in her eyes.
Those eyes, they shone so vivid with remembrance,
That they confessed days lived alike with me:
Oh, in the grave inviolate can it change, then,
The Long Ago, and live in the To Be?

Sure, she was one who, being dead, yet brought me.
Miraculous, a strength that comforteth,
And the Viaticum of her survival
Guiding me from the further side of Death.

From "LA MULTIPLE SPLENDEUR"

THE GLORY OF THE HEAVENS

Shining in dim transparence, the whole of infinity lies
Behind the veil that the finger of radiant winter weaves
And down on us falls the foliage of stars in glittering sheaves;
From out the depths of the forest, the forest obscure of the skies,

The winged sea with her shadowy floods as of dappled silk
Speeds, 'neath the golden fires, her pale immensity o'er;
And diamond-rayed, the moonlight, shining along the shore,
Bathes the brow of the headlands in radiance as soft as milk.

Yonder there flow, untwining and twining their loops anew!
The mighty, silvery rivers, through the translucent night;
And a glint as of wondrous acids sparkles with magic light
the cup that the lake outstretches towards the mountains blue.

Everywhere light seems breaking forth into flower and star,
Whether on shore in stillness, or wavering on the deep.
The islands are nests where silence inviolate doth deep;
An ardent nimbus hovers o'er yon horizons far.

See, from Nadir to Zenith one aureole doth reach!
Of yore, the souls exalted by faith's high mysteries
Saw, in the domination of those star-clouded skies,
Jehovah's hand resplendent and heard His silent speech.

But now the eyes that scan them no longer may there aspire
To we some god self-banished--not so, but the intricate
Tangle of marvellous problems, the messengers that wait
On Measureless Force, and veil her, there on her couch o