 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
46
FADING GLORIES.
II.
In or and azure were they shrined of old,
Where led dim aisle to glowing stained-glass rose,
Like life's dim lane, with Heaven at its close;
Where censer swung, and organ-thunder rolled;
Where led dim aisle to glowing stained-glass rose,
Like life's dim lane, with Heaven at its close;
Where censer swung, and organ-thunder rolled;
Where mitred, croziered, and superbly stoled,
Pale pontiffs gleamed, in dusky minster shows;
Where, like a soul that trembling skyward goes,
The Easter hymn soared up on wings of gold.
Pale pontiffs gleamed, in dusky minster shows;
Where, like a soul that trembling skyward goes,
The Easter hymn soared up on wings of gold.
And now they stand with aureoles that time dims
Near young Greek fauns that pagan berries wreathe,
In crowded glaring galleries of dead art.
Near young Greek fauns that pagan berries wreathe,
In crowded glaring galleries of dead art.
Their hands still fold; their lips still sing faint hymns;
Or are they prayers that beautiful shapes breathe
For shelter in some cold eclectic heart?
Or are they prayers that beautiful shapes breathe
For shelter in some cold eclectic heart?
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |