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Sky all wrapped about your head
Blue and sweet,
Earth all golden from the tread
Of your feet.
God, who of all this world of ours
Gathers flowers,
Gathered you in the old sublime
Flower time:
If God had left some flowers like you—
Who can tell?—
He might have had yet one or two
Flowers that fell.
O then there were great sins of course;
Men were worse
Some ways no doubt; at any rate
Men were great:
We cannot bear their mail, much less
Lose or win
Their heavens, through their great holiness
Or great sin.
