A Woman's Reliquary [by Edward Dowden] |
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| XXXII. | XXXII THE CHAPEL |
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 | A Woman's Reliquary |  |
XXXII
THE CHAPEL
The starry chapel, where I bow
My head in thanks or lift in praise,
Has altars four; at each a vow
I make, at each a hymn I raise.
My head in thanks or lift in praise,
Has altars four; at each a vow
I make, at each a hymn I raise.
Her brain: whose poignant quivering flame
Leaps, laughs and lightens from the pyre;
Dry logs I gathered—such my claim—
And laid in order: hers the fire.
Leaps, laughs and lightens from the pyre;
Dry logs I gathered—such my claim—
And laid in order: hers the fire.
17
Her soul: not as the Scribes it spoke,
Sundering things real from things that seem;
I felt the austere control; I woke,
And on the altar left a dream.
Sundering things real from things that seem;
I felt the austere control; I woke,
And on the altar left a dream.
Her breast, Love's shrine: for very awe
So long, so long, I stood apart;
Then bow'd to dread benignant law,
And on the coals I cast a heart.
So long, so long, I stood apart;
Then bow'd to dread benignant law,
And on the coals I cast a heart.
An altar last, whose incensed air
Quickens the breath like wildrose wine
Inhaled when all the land is fair,
And girdling heaven shows earth divine.
Quickens the breath like wildrose wine
Inhaled when all the land is fair,
And girdling heaven shows earth divine.
| A Woman's Reliquary | |