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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
408
XXXII. FOUNTAINS ABBEY.
The hand of Time is heavy; yet how softIts touch can be, yon mouldering chancel knows!
The ruin too can ‘blossom like the rose;’
Nor e'er from orchard bower, or garth, or croft,
More sweetly sang the linnet than aloft
She sings from that green tower! The sunset glows
Behind it; and yon stream that, darkling, flows
From arch to arch, reflects it oft and oft,
Humbly consenting 'mid the gloom to smile
And take what pensive gladness may befall:
Rejoice thou, too, O venerable Pile,
With loftier heart answering a holier call:
Like those, thy buried saints, make strong thy trust,
Waiting the Resurrection of the Just.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |