Vigil and vision :: :: University of Virginia Library

THIS is the purging-place for things ill-done
And things left undone. In the twilit air
Of dawn, I mount Eld's purgatorial stair,
Whilst all about my way thought's fires there run,
Wherein Life's absolution must be won:
And at the hill-foot, upward as I fare,
For sign of hope and charm against despair,
The waters tremble in the waxing sun.
Here be no pangs of hell; no fiends affright
Our constance, as we urge our pilgrim way,
With eyes uplifted to the morrowing day;
Only the fining-fires of age contrite,
That, with their purging, purifying breath,
Befit us for the sacrament of death.