Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/VIII.

by Mathilde Blind

VIII.

My heart is hushed and holy,
 And pure and calm my soul,
Like aisles in old cathedrals,
 Where organ billows roll.

And o'er my fancy flitteth
 A dim and lovely light,
Like beams that fall and quiver
 Through oriel windows bright.

Oh thou, thou art the music
 That, like a tide, sweeps in,
Waking the sacred echoes
 My spirit's deeps within.

And thou, thou art the splendour,
 Mysteriously divine,
That overfloods with glory
 That twilight soul of mine.