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.