Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer Of one small primrose flowering in my mind. Better than wealth it is, I said, to find One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear. I looked at Christ transfigured without fear-- The light was very beautiful and kind, And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed I read it through the lenses of a tear. And then my sight grew dim, I could not see The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven, And there was but the shadow of a tree Ghostly among the stars. The years that pass Like tired soldiers nevermore have given Moments to see wonders in the grass.