The Inner Fields

There is a brighter ether than this blue Pretence of an enveloping heavenly vault, Royaler investiture than this massed assault Of emerald rapture pearled with tears of dew. Immortal spaces of cerulean hue Are in our reach and fields without this fault Of drab brown earth and streams that never halt In their deep murmur which white flowers strew Floating like stars upon a strip of sky. This world behind is made of truer stuff Than the manufactured tissue of earth's grace. There we can walk and see the gods go by And sip from Hebe's cup nectar enough To make for us heavenly limbs and deathless face.