 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| VI. |
 | 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,
335
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 | |