It sifts from leaden sieves

It sifts from Leaden Sieves -
It powders all the Field -
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road -

It makes an even face
Of Mountain - and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East - again -

It reaches to the Fence -
It wraps it, Rail by Rail,
Till it is lost in Fleeces -
It flings a Crystal Vail

On Stump - and Stack - and Stem -
The Summer's empty Room -
Acres of Joints - where Harvests were -
Recordless - but for them -

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts -
As Ancles of a Queen -
Then stills it's Artisans - like Swans -
Denying they have been -