Poem by Francis Thompson

Chose Vue

A metrical caprice.

Up she rose, fair daughter-well she was graced
As a cloud her going, stept from her chair,
As a summer-soft cloud, in her going paced,
Down dropped her riband-band, and all her waving hair
Shook like loosened music cadent to her waist;-
Lapsing like music, wavery as water,
Slid to her waist. 

1. Dedication to Wilfred and Alice Meynell
2. Unto This Last
3. By Reason of Thy Law
4. Nocturn
5. After Her Going

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