The feet of people walking home

In gayer sandals go,

The Crocus, till she rises,

The Vassal of the Snow—

The lips at Hallelujah!

Long years of practice bore,

Till bye and bye these Bargemen

Walked singing on the shore.

Pearls are the Diver's farthings

Extorted from the Sea,

Pinions the Seraph's wagon,

Pedestrians 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 resurrection pours!