Classic Poem

Whithersoever cold and fair ye flow,
Take me, O moon and not unwilling wind
Past Wyatt's cumbering portal, frost-entwined,
And Merton 'neath that crisp tiara's glow,
And lawns in bridal gossamer 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,
Give me your benison! that light and swift
I cross these leagues of almost alien ground
Spread so with childhood. Bid with me, out-bound,
On recollected wing mine angel drift
Far as the frontiers of infinity.