 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
54
SOULAC.
A strange square house, all battered, used to stand
Upon the Gascon coast, where sparse pines keep
A doubtful footing, as the salt winds sweep
The restless hillocks of ill-bladed sand.
Upon the Gascon coast, where sparse pines keep
A doubtful footing, as the salt winds sweep
The restless hillocks of ill-bladed sand.
A house? it was the bell-loft, Norman-plann'd,
Of long-lost Soulac's minster, buried deep
In sand, which Ocean never seized to heap
In its eternal battle with the land.
Of long-lost Soulac's minster, buried deep
In sand, which Ocean never seized to heap
In its eternal battle with the land.
All else was gone: fit image of the fate
That overtakes the rich and stately pile
Which, arch on arch, life's early dreams create.
That overtakes the rich and stately pile
Which, arch on arch, life's early dreams create.
The real slowly clogs it, nave and aisle,
Transept and apse; and we are glad, if late,
Some humble vestige shelters us awhile.
Transept and apse; and we are glad, if late,
Some humble vestige shelters us awhile.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |