http://librarian.i2p/get/15250472421655646603/15565138179980134086
The last torn cloud, with trailing gown, Passes the open gates of light; And the white bees are lost in flight. VI Look how the landscape glitters wide and still, Bright with a pure surprise! The day begins with joy, and all past ill, Buried in white oblivion, lies Beneath the snowdrifts under crystal skies.