Ii

Withdrawn within the cavern of his wings, Grave with the joy of thoughts beneficent, And finely wrought and durable and clear, If so his eyes showed forth the mind's content, So sate the first to whom remembrance clings, Tissued like bat's wings did his wings appear, Not of that shadowy colouring and drear, But as thin shells, pale saffron, luminous; Alone, unlonely, whose calm glances shed Friend's love to strangers though no word were said, Pensive his godly state he keepeth thus. Not with his surfaces his power endeth, But is as flame that from the gem extendeth.