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.

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.

February 1899.

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