The costume vault

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night              And watching, with eternal lids apart,              Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,              The moving waters at their priestlike task              Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,              Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask              Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —              No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,              Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,              To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,              Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, ...