Beauty Is Gathered Like the Rain on Hills

BEAUTY is gathered like the rain on hills:
Here sinking into reservoirs of moss,
Whose beryl stars are guardians of loss,
And there a cowslip-hidden pool it fills.
Or if, uncisterned by the earth, it spills
In thin cascades where staircased ledges cross
A lonely hill-road, careless, cold winds toss
Its spray on granite fields that no man tills.
Diminish as it may, or disappear
From barren pastures, beauty cannot fail
While there are crevices to drink its dew.
Following, following down, like springs in shale
Or vanished old sea-sand, it filters through
Lost littorals of dream, and issues clear.