VII
White Fog
 

Heaven-invading hills are drowned
  In wide moving waves of mist,
Phlox before my door are wound
  In dripping wreaths of amethyst.

Ten feet away the solid earth
  Changes into melting cloud,
There is a hush of pain and mirth,
  No bird has heart to speak aloud.

Here in a world without a sky,
  Without the ground, without the sea,
The one unchanging thing is I,
  Myself remains to comfort me.