THE rain has ceased, and in my room 
The sunshine pours an airy flood; 
And on the church's dizzy vane 
The ancient cross is bathed in blood. 
From out the dripping ivy leaves, 
Antiquely carven, gray and high, 
A dormer, facing westward, looks 
Upon the village like an eye. 
And now it glimmers in the sun, 
A globe of gold, a disk, a speck; 
And in the belfry sits a dove 
With purple ripples on her neck.