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Poem	The landscape now reveals a change; A stair—that twinèd elm-boughs hold Enclosed 'mid hedges mystic, strange— Inaugurates a green and gold Vision of gardens, range on range. Each step's a hope, that doth ascend Stairwise to expectation's height; A weary way it is to wend While noonday suns are burning bright. But rest waits at the evening's end. Streams, that wash white from sin, flow deep, And round about the fresh lawns twine; While there, beneath the green banks steep, Beside his cross, the Lamb Divine Lies tranquilly in peaceful sleep. The daisied grass is glad, and gay With crystal butterflies the hedge. Where globes of fruit shine blue; here stray Peacocks beside the box-trees' edge: A shining lion bars the way. Flowers, upright as the ecstasies And ardours of white spirits pure, With branches springing fountain-wise, Burst upward, and by impulse sure To their own soaring splendour rise. Gently and very slowly swayed. The wind a wordless rhapsody Sings—and the shimm'ring air doth braid An aureole of filigree Round every disk with emerald laid. Even the shade is but a flight Toward flickering radiances, that slip From space to space; and now the light Sleeps, with calmed rays, upon the lip Of lilac-blossoms golden-white.
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