On a Fine Morning

 Whence comes Solace?--Not from seeing 
What is doing, suffering, being, 
Not from noting Life's conditions, 
Nor from heeding Time's monitions; 
 But in cleaving to the Dream, 
 And in gazing at the gleam 
 Whereby gray things golden seem.
 

II 

Thus do I this heyday, holding 
Shadows but as lights unfolding, 
As no specious show this moment 
With its irised embowment; 
 But as nothing other than 
 Part of a benignant plan; 
 Proof that earth was made for man.

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