That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection

CLoud-Puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-     built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; they glitter in marches.     Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm arches,     Shivelights and shadowtackle in long | lashes lace, lance, and pair.     Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare     Of yestertempest's creases; in pool and rut peel parches     Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches     Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there     Footfretted in it. Million-fueld, | nature's bonfire burns on.     But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selvd spark     Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone!     Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark     Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone     Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark     Is any of him at all so stark     But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resur- rection,     A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection.     Across my foundering deck shone     A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash     Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:     In a flash, at a trumpet crash,     I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and     This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,     Is immortal diamond.