Forms of saints and kings are standing
       &nbsp The cathedral door above;
Yet I saw but one among them
       &nbsp Who hath soothed my soul with love.

In his mantle,—wound about him,
       &nbsp As their robes the sowers wind,—
Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
       &nbsp Flowers and weeds of every kind.

And so stands he calm and childlike,
       &nbsp High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,
       &nbsp I would be like him, a child!

And my songs,—green leaves and blossoms,—
       &nbsp To the doors of heaven would hear,
Calling even in storm and tempest,
       &nbsp Round me still these birds of air.