Here you will find thePoemThe Robeof poet Jones Very
Each naked branch, the yellow leaf or brown, The rugged rock, and death-deformed plain Lie 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; Beneath, 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 Ever lie naked to the passer by; Nor can one thought deformed the presence shun, But to the spirit's gaze stands bright as in the sun.
