THE WINGÉD CLOAK
I DRAW my cloak about me ...
Tattered and gray
To others it may be.
It seems to me
Of golden hue,
Broidered with mystic blue,
Woven each dawn anew,
And light as dew-ringed cobweb
On the grass.
Unscathed and joyously
In it I pass
Through drenching torrent, wind,
Fierce pitiless sun,
Till day is done.