But now the green of the corn is going,
And winter comes and a springtime sowing
Of other grain, on the plains we knew.
So I walk on air, where the clouds are blowing,
And kiss her hand, where the gods are sowing
Stars for corn, in the star-fields new.
IN THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION CHURCH
Hunted by friends who think that life is play,
Shaken by holy loves, more feared than foes,
By beauty’s amber cup, that overflows,