61. The Vesture of the Soul
I PITIED one whose tattered dress
Was patched, and stained with dust and rain;
He smiled on me; I could not guess
The viewless spirits wide domain.
He said, The royal robe I wear
Trails all along the fields of light:
Its silent blue and silver bear
For gems the starry dust of night.
The breath of Joy unceasingly
Waves to and fro its folds starlit,
And far beyond earths misery
I live and breathe the joy of it.
61. The Vesture of the Soul by George William Russell