VI

Such hope, I know not fear;

I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven

      That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,

      Pure spaces clothed in living beams,

Pure lilies of eternal peace,

      Whose odours haunt my dreams;

And, stricken by an angel's hand,

      This mortal armour that I wear,

This weight and size, this heart and eyes,

      Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.