Your tenderness, too perfect for compassion,
Your divine strength, too pure and proud for scorn.
You are most beautiful, but it is given
But few to find you, fewer still to keep
Your high path through the solitude of heaven,
My lonely one, your watch upon the Deep.
Now toward the gold glow of the sunset’s splendor
Veer your great vans. What haven in the west
Now draws you—while the mellowing light makes tender
Your dripping plumes—what islands of the blest?