WHITHERSOEVER cold and fair ye flow,
Take me, O gentle moon and gentler wind,
Past Wyatt's cumbering portal, frost-entwined,
And Merton 'neath that huge tiara's glow,
And groves in bridal gossamer below
Saint Mary's armoured spire; and whence aligned
In altered eminence for dawn to find
Sleep the droll Cæsars, hooded with the snow.
White sacraments of weather, shine on me!
Upbear my footfall and my fancy sift,
Lest either blemish an ensainted ground
Spread so with childhood. Bid with me, outbound,
On recollected wing mine angel drift
Across new spheres of immortality.