III.
Up to my ear my soul doth run—
Her other door is dark;
There she can see without the sun,
And there she sits to mark.
I hear the dull unheeding wind
Mumble o'er heath and wold;
My fancy leaves my brain behind,
And floats into the cold.
Like a forgotten face that lies
One of the speechless crowd,
The earth lies spent, with frozen eyes,
White-folded in her shroud.
O'er leafless woods and cornless farms,
Dead rivers, fireless thorps,
I brood, the heart still throbbing warm
In Nature's wintered corpse.
IV.
To all the world mine eyes are blind:
Their drop serene is—night,
With stores of snow piled up the wind
An awful airy height.
And yet 'tis but a mote in the eye:
The simple faithful stars
Beyond are shining, careless high,
Nor heed our storms and jars.
And when o'er storm and jar I climb—
Beyond life's atmosphere,
I shall behold the lord of time
And space—of world and year.
Oh vain, far quest!—not thus my heart
Shall ever find its goal!
I turn me home—and there thou art,
My Father, in my soul!