(To H. S. S.)

The barriers of sleep are crossed And I alone am yet awake, Keeping another Pentecost For that new visitation’s sake Of life descending on the hills In blackthorn bloom and daffodils.

At peace upon my pillow lain I celebrate the spirit come In spring’s immutable youth again Across the lands of Christendom; I hear in all the choral host The coming of the Holy Ghost.

The sacrament of bough and blade, Of populous folds and building birds I take, till now an end is made Of praise and ceremonial words, And I too turn myself to keep The quiet festival of sleep.

March 1913.