The Vesture of the Soul by George William Russell
I PITIED one whose tattered dress
Was patched, and stained with dust and rain;
He smiled on me; I could not guess
The viewless spiritâ€™s wide domain.
He said, â€œThe royal robe I wear
Trails all along the fields of light:
Its silent blue and silver bear
For gems the starry dust of night.
â€œThe breath of Joy unceasingly
Waves to and fro its folds starlit,
And far beyond earthâ€™s misery
I live and breathe the joy of it.â€