his eyes are hung lamps of the sanctuary:
wind, from whence none knows, can set in sway
spill their light by fits; but yet their ray
deep-boled, to its obscurity.
world as from a dullard turns annoyed
stir the days with show or deeds or voices;
if one spies him justly one rejoices,
silence that the careful lips avoid.
is a plan, a work of some strange passion
has conceived apart from Time's harsh drill,
thing it hides and cherishes to fashion.
odd bright moments to its secret will:
and foolish, ever set apart,
He waits the leisure of his god's free heart.