Vision Of The Archangels, The
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lowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,Trod four archangels, clear against the unheeding sky,Bearing, with quiet even steps, and great wings furled,A little dingy coffin; where a child must lie,It was so tiny. (Yet, you had fancied, God could neverHave bidden a child turn from the spring and the sunlight,And shut him in that lonely shell, to drop for everInto the emptiness and silence, into the night. . . .) They then from the sheer summit cast, and watched it fall,Through unknown glooms, that frail black coffin -- and thereinGod's little pitiful Body lying, worn and thin,And curled up like some crumpled, lonely flower-petal --Till it was no more visible; then turned againWith sorrowful quiet faces downward to the plain.
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