 | A book of Bristol sonnets |  |
125
MIDDLE AGE;
OR, AT TINTERN ABBEY.
When, with strict clause and consequential creed,Men cramped the truth, then, Tintern, it was well
The hurricane of kingly passion fell
Upon thy splendours! For God's Flower has need
Of light and air; and, like the thistle-seed,
Must flutter hither, and there pausing, dwell!
Oft self, not Christ, chose out the hermit's cell;
And lying use, not love, would count the bead!
Grey ruin, with thy Protestant reproof,
The clouds do paint, the stars emboss thy roof;
For the dead stone, green Ivy, sculptures thee!
God, with His sunshine, now may enter free!
And I, who scent the Daisies as I kneel,
Can thank thy founders, and their purpose feel!
| A book of Bristol sonnets | |