Drifts dimly forward, easily hidden
By bright leaves uttered aloud, and strife
Of shapes in the grey mist chidden.
The grey, phosphorescent, pellucid advance
Of the luminous purpose of God, shines out
Where the lofty trees athwart stream chance
To shake flakes of its shadow about.
The subtle, steady rush of the whole
Grey foam-mist of advancing God,
As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal,