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Grey Day

Under leaden sky prisoned,
on dull errand bent,
by shackles of needs-must
chafed and obstructed,
clanking my manacles
I plod stubbornly
in stony dust.

Sudden to right-hand
on mournful east sky,
steel-grey sky, gun-metal sea,
image of hidden light
lying in level lines,
beyond the lowland,
on dun sky and sea.

Quick to memory comes
Clement’s Inn Hall set
with show of pewter plate
polished to proper sheen,
grey of silver and slate;
between riches and penury
pride of sober mean.

Next, on the left-hand,
pattern set forth defined
of bold magnolia leaves,
gold on the underside,
on face burnished green,
giving back silver gleam
from grey-muffled sky.

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Pattern! that echoing word:
purfle of priestly robe,
scarlet, blue, purple wove,
pomegranates, bells of gold,
breastplate of precious stones,
for glory and beauty shown
to Moses in dreadful mount.

(The Spirit of Beauty thus
circumstance will outwit,
thus in a flash set free
a morose prisoner.)