Whithersoever cold and fair ye flow,
Calm tides of moonlit midnight, bear my mind!
Past Christchurch gate, with leafy frost entwined,
And Merton in a huge tiara’s glow,
And groves in bridal gossamers 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.