I like this one. "Love Calls Us To the Things Of This World" Richard Wilbur
The eyes open to a cry of pulleys
and spirited from sleep, the astounded
soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and
simple
As false dawn
Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with
angels.
Some are in bedsheets, some are
in blouses
Some are in smocks; but truly there
they are.
Now they are rising together in calm
swells
Of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they
wear
With the deep joy of their impersonal
breathing
Now they are flying in place
conveying
The terrible speed of their
omnipresence, moving
and staying like whitewater, and now
of a sudden
They swoon down in so rapt a quiet
That nobody seems to be there.
The soul shrinks
From all it is about to remember
From the punctual rape of every
blessed day,
and cries
"Oh, let there be nothing on
Earth but laundry,
nothing but rosy hands in the rising
steam
and clear dances done in the sight of
Heaven."
Yet as the sun acknowledges
With a warm look the worlds hunks
and colors,
The soul descends once more in bitter
love
To accept the waking body, saying now
In a changed voice as the man yawns
and rises
"Bring them down from their bloody
gallows;
Let there be clean linen for the backs
of thieves;
Let lovers go sweet and fresh to be
undone,
and the heaviest of nuns walk in a pure
floating
of dark habits
keeping their difficult
balance."