 | In the Dorian Mood |  |
36
IN A NORMAN CHURCH
As over incense-laden air
Stole winter twilight, soft and dim,
The folk arose from their last prayer—
When hark, an ancient hymn!
Stole winter twilight, soft and dim,
The folk arose from their last prayer—
When hark, an ancient hymn!
Round yon great pillar, circlewise,
The singers stand up, two and two—
Small lint-haired girls from whose young eyes
The gray sea looks at you.
The singers stand up, two and two—
Small lint-haired girls from whose young eyes
The gray sea looks at you.
Now heavenward the pure music wins
With cadence soft and silvery beat:
In flutes and subtile violins
Are harmonies less sweet.
With cadence soft and silvery beat:
In flutes and subtile violins
Are harmonies less sweet.
37
It is a chant with plaintive ring,
And rhymes and refrains old and quaint:
‘Oh Monseigneur Saint Jacques,’ they sing,
And ‘Oh Assisi's Saint.’
And rhymes and refrains old and quaint:
‘Oh Monseigneur Saint Jacques,’ they sing,
And ‘Oh Assisi's Saint.’
Through deepening dusk one just can see
The little white-capped heads that move
In time to lines turned rhythmically
And starred with names of love.
The little white-capped heads that move
In time to lines turned rhythmically
And starred with names of love.
Bred in no gentle silken ease,
Trained to expect no splendid fate,
They are but pleasant children these,
Of very mean estate.
Trained to expect no splendid fate,
They are but pleasant children these,
Of very mean estate.
Nay, is that true? To-night perhaps
Unworldlier eyes had well discerned
Among those little gleaming caps
An aureole that burned.
Unworldlier eyes had well discerned
Among those little gleaming caps
An aureole that burned.
38
For once 'twas thought the Gates of Pearl
Best opened to the poor that trod
The path of the meek peasant girl
Who bore the Son of God.
Best opened to the poor that trod
The path of the meek peasant girl
Who bore the Son of God.
| In the Dorian Mood | |