Note 291 — 1817

Meek effluence—that, while I trod With downcast eye in narrow space, Did'st vivify the wintry sod, As if an Angel filled the place With softened light—thou wert a touch Even to my heart of hearts—and such Is every gift of grace. {Oh } {Yet } wherefore did it leave the sky, And wherefore did it seem to speak Of something bordering all too nigh {On what I seldom dare } {Of what full oft I deign } to seek, A happier order for my doom, A favoured era when the gloom ms. At length will cleave and break.