Miasmic shapes that writhe and whirl
In robes diaphanous and white,
That round the hedges coil and furl,
And make a moon of every light;
They dance and weave in silent hosts
Like armies of forgotten ghosts.
There is a world beyond the veil
Remembered from a clearer day,
But now it seems so thin and frail
A gust would scatter all away:
And what did once so solid seem
Is now the phantom of a dream.
So hangs a screen before our eyes,
When we the future try to probe
And seek a glimpse of Paradise
That permeates our earthly globe.
All is dissolved in God’s quick breath;
We see the real world, meeting death.