Scattering all mists with sudden, radiant wing;
Stirring the languid pulses; quickening
The apathetic mood, the weary brain?
Or was she like the sun, whose gift of cheer
Endureth for all seasons of the year,
Alike in winter’s cold or summer’s heat?
Or like the sea, which brings its gifts from far,
And still, wherever want and straitness are,
Lays down a sudden largess at their feet?
Or was she like a wood, where light and shade,