The feet of people walking home

Pearls are the Diver's farthings

Extorted from the Sea —

Pinions — the Seraph's wagon

Pedestrian once — as we —

Night is the morning's Canvas

Larceny — legacy —

Death, but our rapt attention

To Immortality.

My figures fail to tell me

How far the Village lies —

Whose peasants are the Angels —

Whose Cantons dot the skies —

My Classics veil their faces —

My faith that Dark adores —

Which from its solemn abbeys

Such ressurection pours.