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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
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VIII. TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
I
The wind rang out from depths of woodsAnd pealed through valleys bent
Among the echoing hills like tubes
Of some vast instrument.
Its sound we heard; but know not whence
It came, nor whither went.
II
The wind upon our forehead blows:In gleams of lambent flame
The sunbeams flash from wave and leaf:
The hour is now the same
As when to Christ's anointed Twelve
That promised Spirit came.
III
The sound as of a rushing windBefore His wings He flung:
And leaped on those uplifted brows
In many a flaming tongue!—
O breathe on us Thy seven-fold powers:
O dwell our hearts among!
IV
Live Thou in Christ's mysterious VineUntil her branches spread
Among the stars—to them as flowers
'Mid locks of one new-wed:
And clasp in their descending arch
The Earth's wide bridal-bed!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |