My Romney!—Lifting up my hand in his, As wheeled by Seeing spirits toward the east, He turned instinctively,—where, faint and fair, Along the tingling desert of the sky, Beyond the circle of the conscious hills, Were laid in jasper-stone as clear as glass The first foundations of that new, near Day Which should be builded out of heaven, to God. He stood a moment with erected brows, In silence, as a creature might, who gazed: Stood calm, and fed his blind, majestic eyes Upon the thought of perfect noon. And when I saw his soul saw,—‘Jasper first,’ I said, ‘And second, sapphire; third, chalcedony; The rest in order, ... last, an amethyst.’ THE END. BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.