crumble! in marvelous cadence

as they die, Chance against Chance
impervious to The Mortal radiance

disturbed by the great Fall

compressing all of brittle Permanence
deliberately to The Singular soul

content merely to grow
her own unfolding grain of All:

Seasons may bring about their Show
of Always Passing gain

while She weathers th'smothering snow
still, and the falling rain...

Years without end seeing her there
surviving The Poignant call;

And many more will she forbear
Spring till Th'Angels fall

Minds may construct their ponderous walls
scaffolds impenetrably dense

but when The Soul brings down the halls
it is to utter Providence