 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
79
The Robe
Each naked branch, the yellow leaf or brown,The rugged rock, and death-deformed plain
Lies white beneath the winter's feathery down,
Nor doth a spot unsightly now remain;
On sheltering roof, on man himself it falls;
But him no robe, not spotless snow makes clean;
For 'neath his corse-like spirit ever calls,
That on it too may fall the heavenly screen;
But all in vain, its guilt can never hide
From the quick spirit's heart-deep searching eye,
There barren plains, and caverns yawning wide
Must e'er lay naked to the passer by;
Nor can one thought deformed its presence shun,
But to the spirit's gaze stands bright as in the sun.
Poem No. 103; mid-September to mid-December 1838
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