Let us put by some hour of every day For holy things!—whether it be when dawn Peers through the window pane, or when the noon Flames, like a burnished topaz, in the vault, Or when the thrush pours in the ear of eve Its plaintive monody; some little hour Wherein to hold rapt converse with the soul, From sordidness and self a sanctuary,Swept by the winnowing of unseen wings, And touched by the White Light Ineffable! |