Gaunt windy moons bedraggled in the dusk
Have drifted by and withered in their shame,
Noses for truffles with unwhetted tusk;
A sickening scent of civet and of musk
Has clogged the nostrils of the Hound of Fame —
But flickering stars are blown to vivid flame
When leaps your beauty from its blazing husk.
Blossom of burning solitude! High things
Are lit with splendour — Love your glimmering ray
Smites them to glory — below them and away
A little song floats upward on the wings
Of daring, and the thunders of the Day
Clamour to God the messages it brings.