292
Winds.
Into the churchyard stealing, thou wouldst seek
Thy new-heaped grave, now difficult to find
Under the thick white universal snow,
And humbly pray the dead shape lying there
For shelter in its heart and leave to drink
Of that mysterious cup so freely given
To brutes and the brute senses, but denied
To the bright lordly spirit.
Thy new-heaped grave, now difficult to find
Under the thick white universal snow,
And humbly pray the dead shape lying there
For shelter in its heart and leave to drink
Of that mysterious cup so freely given
To brutes and the brute senses, but denied
To the bright lordly spirit.
