Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by.
I muse at how its being puts blissful
With yellowy moisture mild night's blear-all black,
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.
By that window what task what fingers ply,
I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or
There God to aggrándise,
God to glorify.—Come you indoors, come home; your fading
Mend first and vital candle in close heart's vault:
You there are master, do your own desire;
What hinders?
Are you beam-blind, yet to a
In a neighbour deft-handed?
Are you that
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?
