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.