Unburthened

Not grief nor the sunny wine Of gladness steeps my spirit as I gaze Over these meads that lie engarmented In stubble robes of winter-weary brown. For, as those solitary trees afar Have reached unbudding boughs to the dim day And melted on the infinite calm of space, So have I reached, and am no more distraught With the quivering pangs of memory's yesterday. But the boon of blue skies deeper than despair, Of rest that rises as a tide of sleep, Of care borne on the plumes of swan-swift clouds Away to the sullen shades of the low west, Have lulled my soul with soft infinitude-- And lent it faith's illimitable Peace.