Truth
A breath of beauty blown through Spring's green bowers,
The glory of a rainbow in the spray,
The first ethereal rose when waking day
Smiles through a fragrant mist of dreaming flowers;
Or in the west, the visioned ivory towers
Seen but a moment as clouds drift away,
A gleam of water where the willows sway,
A far-off song between warm summer showers.
A leaping flame upon blue midnight hills,
A star that trembles in a vapory veil,
A flash of gold-lined wings, — so pure, so high
Is Truth; so rarely seen, a swift glance fills
The soul with radiance, as when the frail
New moon's white shadow lights a fading sky.
