Vi

"Soft torrential wind Falls through the vast, still deep Like thick dreams pouring behind The opened gates of sleep: Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright, Lest I be blown--a feather; Not so white, not so white, Lest I be withered altogether.

"Earth shifts under my feet, Glory breaks over my head; Speechlessly my wings I beat, And fall mute in breathless dread: Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright, Lest I be blown--a feather; Not so white, not so white, Lest I be wilted altogether."