Broken, like a shaft of moonlight,
Falling, falling, —
Like a spirit of the marsh-reeds
Calling, calling!
Like a shadow where the dove mourns in its passing,
Like a hush upon the sleeping waters glassing,
Drifts the essence of the soul.

The grain has been stript in the husking, —
Naked, bared, —
The germ had been loosed from its prison,
Where it fared;
Earth but saw its own poor earthly token,
Earth but felt the clay-mould crushed and broken,
Paradise received a Living Thing.