 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
40
The Solo.
I gaze on the painted windows,
The columns ashy and cold,
The frescoed saints in the arches,
The ceiling of azure and gold.
The columns ashy and cold,
The frescoed saints in the arches,
The ceiling of azure and gold.
The organ thunders and shudders
Like a monster dying in pain;
The chorus has wailed its parting,
Lamenting, repenting in vain.
Like a monster dying in pain;
The chorus has wailed its parting,
Lamenting, repenting in vain.
Then out of the gloom arises
An angel whose wings are furled
You lift your voice in the solo,
And I fly from a woful world.
An angel whose wings are furled
You lift your voice in the solo,
And I fly from a woful world.
I traverse ethereal oceans;
Above me are marvellous skies;
I win the islands of Glory
And the beaches of Paradise.
Above me are marvellous skies;
I win the islands of Glory
And the beaches of Paradise.
You guide me, I care not whither
So long as I hear you sing;
Grief dies and toil is forgotten;
Ah, life is a heavenly thing.
So long as I hear you sing;
Grief dies and toil is forgotten;
Ah, life is a heavenly thing.
Then silence falls like a terror
That blanches the face of mirth;
The solo ends, and I waken
To toil and sorrow and earth.
That blanches the face of mirth;
The solo ends, and I waken
To toil and sorrow and earth.
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |