Yea, beneath his glance, the fairy frost
Upon the love sprite’s wing
Doth flutter, as a dust, and drop, and leave
But bruised and broken bearers for His store.
Yea, and ’mid man’s day he ever strideth him
And layeth low man’s reasoning. His robes
Are hung of all the earth’s most loved.
From off the flowers their fresh; from off the day
The fairness of her hours. For dark, and hid
Beneath his cloak, he steppeth ever,