Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by.

I muse at how its being puts blissful back

With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black,

Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.

By that window what task what fingers ply,

I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack

Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack

There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.—

Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire

Mend first and vital candle in close heart’s vault:

You there are master, do your own desire;

What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault

In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar

And cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?