Yet no vision that heals division of love from love, and
⁠renews awhile
Life and breath in the lips where death has quenched
⁠the spirit of speech and smile,
Shows on earth, or in heaven's mid mirth, where no fears
⁠enter or doubts defile,

Aught more fair than the radiant air and water here by
⁠the twilight wed,
Here made one by the waning sun whose last love
⁠quickens to rosebright red
Half the crown of the soft high down that rears to
⁠northward its wood-girt head.

There, when day is at height of sway, men's eyes who
⁠stand, as we oft have stood,
High where towers with its world of flowers the golden
⁠spinny that flanks the wood,
See before and around them shore and seaboard glad as
⁠their gifts are good.