Apparitions

Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!

Sky - what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!

World - how it walled about
Life with disgrace 
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face!

Robert browning, he always brings the truth to fore