The third, the whitest, Charity.
Above the plunging surges play
Dream-like they hovered, day by day.
At last they turned, and bore to me
Green signs of peace thro’ nightfall gray,
No shore forlorn, no loveliest land
Their gentle eye had left unscanned,
’Mid hues of twilight-heliotrope
Or daybreak fires by heaven-breath fanned
Quick visions of celestial grace,—