The dark is magical, the air 
Living with silver moths. 
Planet and star, like cherubim 
On heaven's amber stair, 
With golden cloths 
About their shoulders thrown, 
Whisper in sweet and secret monotone. 
The west wind beats upon my face 
With wings invisible, and feet 
As white and light and musical 
As wind . . . But lo, 
Where yonder in a cloud of snow 
Comes Christ, the Mystical ! 
His feet are whiter than the wind, 
His raiment than the stars, 
His voice than soiig of wind and stars 
In diapason joined 
More lyrical.