Classic Poem

I think that God, out of his carefulness,
Made me this weather for my comforting;
This flame of white and silver, and no less
This resolute gold down one day's length in spring.
Some old, lost gable trembles to the sky
And then is done. House, highway to the rim
Are full of footsteps going briefly by;
Beyond the hedge a voice, a face too dim!
So, being comforted, I understand
This sense about me of some Other Where;
The cowslips yonder are mine but in part;
Some tender ghost puts out a sudden hand;
With cherubim and seraphim I share;
God made this weather for my breaking heart.