Page:Poet Lore, At the Chasm, volume 24, 1913.pdf/33

Arch and arch embraced each other,
In a curve the aisles met softly;
The majestic architecture,
Slender, elegant and airy,
In a glorious ascension
Steadily kept rising, rising,
Till against the sapphire heaven
Spires and pinnacles were outlined!
No detail was lost or lacking,
Sculptured saints nor carven monarchs,
Nor the crystals of the ogive
Nor the leaves upon the garlands,
Nor upon the walls the lacework,
Nor the edges of the stonework
Nor the veinings of the marbles.
E'en the rusty mechanism
Of the church clock, slowly, gravely,
Now began the time to follow,
One by one the moments marking.
Now within the sculptured chancel
How much light! Is someone coming?
From afar, a row of torches
Seems the valley to inundate;
And amid the dense, deep forest,
Here and there among the tree-trunks,
Bright red flames now prick the darkness.
All things are alive and stirring;
In the air the bell is swinging: . . .
Come, ye restless, troubled spirits!
Come, the mass is just beginning!

And in litters and on horseback,
In great crowds, from all directions,
Come they, nobles and plebeians;
Princesses and royal princes,
Laborers and lowly peasants,
And the bishops and the abbots.
All of them ascend the church steps,
Cross the chancel, throng the temple.
From the multitude, so earnest
To get in, a clamor rises;