TWO CHANTS.
"Te Deum Laudamus!" through green river meadows,
Where noon, pacing slow, holds in leash the fleet shadows,
Blown like a cloud from St. Agatha's altar,
Drifts down the south wind the loud chanted psalter;
Under the light of the tapers lies sleeping
One whose fair soul was not whitened by weeping.
Where noon, pacing slow, holds in leash the fleet shadows,
Blown like a cloud from St. Agatha's altar,
Drifts down the south wind the loud chanted psalter;
Under the light of the tapers lies sleeping
One whose fair soul was not whitened by weeping.
Sorrow stood far from her—love, in mute reverence,
Knelt to the shrine of her starry intelligence—
Charmed by her music of being, dull cavil
Lay coiled in her presence; and lion-like evil,
Lying in wait for her soul frail and tender,
Crouched at the blaze of its virginal splendour.
Knelt to the shrine of her starry intelligence—
Charmed by her music of being, dull cavil
Lay coiled in her presence; and lion-like evil,
Lying in wait for her soul frail and tender,
Crouched at the blaze of its virginal splendour.
