From a Window
On other quiet summer nights like these,
I have leaned forth where honey-suckles pressed
The twilight pane, and watched the priory West
Send forth its cowled clouds over purple seas—
Seeing, through eve-blurred glass, the waters rise
Beyond sea-lavender’s fringed traceries;
Worshipping, as I worship now, the Sign
That God and Earth are ever one Divine.
Only, the flower of lily in the green,
The scarlet feathered black-bird in the sedge;
Even the white shell by the water’s edge,
Seem to have seen God—whom I have not seen.
Yet with these wistful eyes that may not know,
Let me dare every doubt and darkness. So,
Walking blind roads, spanning all voids, I tread
Earth’s flowing Beauty to its Fountain Head.