Till suddenly transfigured there,
With all her dazzling plumes unfurled,
She climbs the crimson-flooded air,
And flies in glory o'er the world.
THE GRAY LINNET
THERE'S a little gray friar in yonder green bush,
Clothed in sackcloth—a little gray friar
Like a druid of old in his temple—but hush!
He's at vespers; you must not go nigher.