Thy bountiful creation is so fair,
That, drawn before us, like the Temple veil,
It hides the Holy Place from thought and care,
Giving man’s eyes instead its sweeping fold.
Rich as with cherub wings and apples wrought of gold.
“Purple and blue and scarlet—shimmering bells
And rare pomegranates on its broidered rim,
Glorious with chain and fretwork that the smell
Of incense shakes to music dreamy and dim,
Till on a day comes loss, that God makes gain,