I

Are sparkling to the moon:

My breath to heaven like vapour goes

      May my soul follow soon!

The shadows of the convent-towers

      Slant down the snowy sward,

Still creeping with the creeping hours

      That lead me to my Lord:

Make Thou my spirit pure and clear

      As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year

      That in my bosom lies.