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Her days are like the white processional] |
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Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge | ||
37
[V
Her days are like the white processional]
Her days are like the white processionalOf sacred virgins who, transfused with bliss,
Moved round the altars of Hermopolis
With equal pace and measured interval.
For, like the God of Gods, possessed of all
The mighty meaning of the Mysteries,
She over-sees the endless theories
Of Time from summits clear and spiritual.
And I, beside her shrine, with bated breath,
Far in her eyes' profound horizons see
Ever the pulse, the ebb, the upward roll
Of light,—the day of life, the night of death,
Passing beneath the altars whence her soul
Watches in undisturbed divinity.
Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge | ||