ON A FINE MORNING

Whence comes Solace? - Not from seeing

What is doing, suffering, being,

Not from noting Life's conditions,

Nor from heeding Time's monitions;

    But in cleaving to the Dream,

    And in gazing at the gleam

    Whereby gray things golden seem.

Thus do I this heyday, holding

Shadows but as lights unfolding,

As no specious show this moment

With its irised embowment;

    But as nothing other than

    Part of a benignant plan;

    Proof that earth was made for man.

-o0o-