The Finding of The Book and Other Poems By William Alexander |
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The Finding of The Book and Other Poems | ||
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Sensuous, some say, a very amorist
Sensuous, some say, a very amorist
In spiritual spheres of mystic sweets—
Drowsy with incense-fumes, a feebler Keats
Who made the realm of prayer his own acquist.
Nay! let us hail thee palmer, harmonist,
Young heart of fire whose life-consuming beats
Panted it dead, longing for bless'd retreats.
They must love thee who love the love of Christ.
‘Not Spanish, but heav'n,’ here Theresa spake.
The mother intemerate outsnows snow.
The cross is purple with its Passion-wine;
And penitent sinners weep with such sweet woe,
That you might think the nightingales awake
In the long dusk of dark-draped aisles divine.
The Finding of The Book and Other Poems | ||