Xvi

He, at parting:

Yes, to-morrow. Early morn.-- When the House of Day uncloses Portals that the stars adorn,-- Whence Light’s golden presence throws his Flaming lilies, burning roses, At the wide wood’s world of wall, Spears of sparkle at each fall:

Then together we will ride To the wood’s cathedral places; Where, like prayers, the wildflowers hide, Sabbath in their fairy faces; Where, in truest, untaught phrases, Worship in each rhythmic word, God is praised by many a bird.

Look above you.--Pearly white, Star on star now crystallizes Out of darkness: Afric night Hangs them round her like devices Of strange jewels. Vapor rises, Glimmering, from each wood and dell.-- Till to-morrow, then, farewell.