Windle-Straws: IV

Now drops in the abyss a day of life:
I count my twelve hours’ gain;--
Tired senses? vain desires? a baffled strife,
Vexed heart and beating brain?

Ten pages traversed by a languid eye?
--Nay, but one moment’s space
I gazed into the soul of the blue sky;
Rare day! O day of grace!