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,