Publisher's Synopsis
My Lady clad herself in grey, That caught and clung about her throat; Then all the long grey winter day On me a living splendour smote; And why grey palmers holy are, And why grey minsters great in story, And grey skies ring the morning star, And grey hairs are a crown of glory. My Lady clad herself in green Like meadows where the wind-waves pass; Then round my spirit spread, I ween, A splendour of forgotten grass.Then all that dropped of stem or sod, Hoarded as emeralds might be, I bowed to every bush, and trod Amid the live grass fearful
