 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
137
XI. AT MARSKE MILL.
This is the vale and gate of humbleness:Who passes 'neath yon roseate arch's height,
He has no need of priest or eremite;
Bowed down himself, he owns his littleness,
And must his insignificance confess;
Yet therewithal will this stupendous sight
Strike to the soul a sense of wondrous might,
Such power has man his brothers to impress.
Thebes bowed before its Memnon, but we kneel
Before these ringing arches wrapped in cloud,
And hear at times a voice with music sweet,
Soft prelude of the roar of fiery feet;
We know each vast brick-builded Yggdrasil
Speaks with the gods,—they rush and answer loud.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |