TO THE RAINBOW.

All-glorious shape that fleet'st, wind-swept, Athwart the empurpled, pine-girt steep, That sinless, from thy birth hast wept, All-gladdening, till thy death must weep; That in eterne ablution still Thine innocence in shame dost shroud, And, washed where stain was none, dost fill With light thy penitential cloud; Illume with peace our glooming glen; O'er-arch with hope yon distant sea, To angels whispering, and to men, Of her whose lowlier sanctity In God's all-cleansing freshness shrined, Disclaimed all pureness of her own, And aye her lucent brow inclined, God's handmaid meek, before his throne. Aubrey De Vere.