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![]() | II. |
![]() | III. |
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![]() | I. |
![]() | II. |
![]() | III. |
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II. |
III. |
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VIII. |
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XXVIII. |
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XXX. |
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XXXVIII. |
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XL. |
XLI. |
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LI. |
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![]() | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ![]() |
VIII.
That hour, he knew, in many a faneLate ravaged by the Pagan Dane,
God's priests were offering, far and wide,
The Mass of the Presanctified:
For lo! it was Good Friday morn,
And Christ once more was crowned with thorn:
God's Church, he knew, from niche and shrine
Had swept those gauds that time consumes,
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Yield from their sunless wombs:
Veiled were the sacred images,
He knew, like vapour-shrouded trees,
Vanished gold lamp, and chalice rare;
The astonished altars stripped and bare,
Because upon the cross, stone-dead,
Christ lay that hour disraimented.
![]() | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ![]() |