Classic Poem

This is the hour when all substantial foes
Are exorcised and taunt the soul no more;
Now thinner grows the veil between the shore
Of vaster worlds and our calm garden close.
Through the small exit of the open door
We pass, and seem to feel the eyes of those
We knew upon us; almost we suppose
The advent of the face we tremble for.

O that through this profound serenity
Might sound the answer to the heart's deep cry;
If all those gracious presences might see
That, though we hurt them once, they shall not die
Until we also wither, we who keep
Vigil on these sweet meadows where they sleep.

Pomfret