Ineffable angel, with the jasmine wreathed, Wherefrom the sweetness over brow and lips, And luminous white eyelids tremulously slips, A visible essence from thy beauty breathed,-- The pure and pensive marvel of thy face is sheathed In tresses softer than the bloom of night, Wherefrom the dampness on thy forehead drips With dews from out God's meadows infinite,-- Thy face, itself, a lily filled with light:-- Thyself the youngest of God's angels and most fair, Bearing His latest breath and blessing on thine hair, Thou comest fresh from looking on thy Lord; And all is well, and all is filled for thee With eloquent, mute wonder of His Word. Oh, lean a little forth thy lips to me, For I am fain of peace amid this earthly strife, And I would drink, a spent soul, thirstily, From out thy never-failing cup of life. [Illustration: _Angel, from a pencil sketch, by Botticelli_] A PRAYER FOR THE FOLLOWERS OF IDEAL BEAUTY (_With a pencil sketch of an Angel by Botticelli_) Thou in whose All no work imperfect stands, Thou who dost gaze on Beauty's unveiled face, Grant to Thy children Thy sustaining grace, When low at length have run the daylight sands,-- When, though their day was set to Thy commands, They bow contritely in prayer's holy place, Because through strivings beauty-wards they trace The sad misshapings of their earthly hands: Grant them at eve a soul devoutly still, Grant them in dreams a vision of Thy light, Grant them at morn a sorrow purged away Into the peace of all-absolving night, Star in the dawnlight of a fairer day, Nearer the blossom of Thy perfect Will.