Of Thomas Traherne And the Pebble Outside by Sydney Clouts

Gusts of the sun race on the approaching sea.

In the air Traherne’s Contentments shine.

A jeweled Garden gazed at him.

What shall be said of Paradise?

Obscure vermilion heats the dim pebble I hold.

The long rock-sheltered surges flash with spume.

I have read firm poems of God.

Good friend, you perceived bright angels.

This heathen bit of the world lies warm in my palm.

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