 | Love-Songs |  |
136
SO HE ENTERED THE CHURCH OF ROME.
Then pale priests came with comfort tame
But grateful to his soul;
They offered him a temple dim,
They brought an honeyed bowl;
He could not shrink, he chose to drink;
He sought a quiet home—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
But grateful to his soul;
They offered him a temple dim,
They brought an honeyed bowl;
He could not shrink, he chose to drink;
He sought a quiet home—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
He ceased to plead, he ceased to bleed,
He cannot struggle now;
He cannot fight, he has lost the light,
It flames not on his brow;
Far from the rattle of earth's wild battle
His frail feet longed to roam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
He cannot struggle now;
He cannot fight, he has lost the light,
It flames not on his brow;
Far from the rattle of earth's wild battle
His frail feet longed to roam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
He longed for peace and calm release
From all the labour of thought;
He longed for pleasure and gentle leisure—
He has found the gifts he sought:
High thought is curbed, he is not disturbed;
He yearned for a painted dome—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
From all the labour of thought;
He longed for pleasure and gentle leisure—
He has found the gifts he sought:
High thought is curbed, he is not disturbed;
He yearned for a painted dome—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
137
His heaven is sure, his bliss secure,
The angels wait for him;
His harp is ready beyond the eddy
Of death's stream cold and dim;
His bright robe waits beyond the gates
Of heaven: he shunned life's foam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
The angels wait for him;
His harp is ready beyond the eddy
Of death's stream cold and dim;
His bright robe waits beyond the gates
Of heaven: he shunned life's foam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
His joy is certain: he draws the curtain
On earth, and its windy fate;
He cares not now what furrows plough
Our foreheads, what sore weight
Of trouble and care we have to bear;
His feet stuck in earth's loam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
On earth, and its windy fate;
He cares not now what furrows plough
Our foreheads, what sore weight
Of trouble and care we have to bear;
His feet stuck in earth's loam—
So he entered the Church of Rome!
He shrank from thought—the terror it brought,
Its passionate joy as well:
He shall not see the life of the free,
His high Church is his hell;
He shall not enter the fair centre
Of Man's perfect home,
Far from the Church of Rome.
Its passionate joy as well:
He shall not see the life of the free,
His high Church is his hell;
He shall not enter the fair centre
Of Man's perfect home,
Far from the Church of Rome.
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