The landlord cried. "Fool! Shut that door
Amoaning in the wind."
"My glade was deep, a lichened well
Of ether, limpid as a bell
Buoyed on the manifold ground-swell
Whose distance changed attires
As sun-stroked plush, a roundelay
Of all red-blue and purple grey,
And, at each rise and fall of day,
Snows dyed like altar fires