His head is white as snow;
The branches are all barer,
The linnet’s song is rarer.
The robin pipeth low.[10]
(f) O tender dove, sweet circling in the blue,
Whom now a delicate cloud receives from view.
A cool, soft, delicate cloud, we name dim Death!
O pure white land-lily, inhaling breath
From spiritual ether among bowers
Of evergreen in the ever-living flowers