For the glad earth and all the golden light
Whence I depart.
No! God hath purified my spirit’s eye,
And in the folds of this consummate rose
I read bright prophecies. I see not there,
Dimly and mournfully, the word “farewell”
On the rich petals traced. No—in soft veins
And characters of beauty, I can read—
“Look up, look heavenward!”
Blessed God of Love!