Читать книгу Aquarium - Harold Acton - Страница 7

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THE pear-shaped saffron candle-flames

Leap in the velvet-bosomed dark,

The priest speaks gently of God’s claims

To wistful folk with coughs that bark.

Here all is hushed and rabbit-still,

The bull-necked columns, numb with gout

Of countless ages by God’s will

Cast crêpe-like shadows long and stout.

Two narrow slits of coloured glass

Are pierced by spears of mellow light,

The only light allowed to pass

Into this consecrated night.

Behind a candelabra droops

A crucifix of burnished gold,

A ray of dancing sunbeams swoops

Across the cobwebbed arches old.

Here may the sick, the bleeding one

Nurture his wounds and calm his fears.

Here when their joy in life is done

Poor, crumbling men gulp salty tears.

And knotted fingers counting beads,

And prayers half-whispered never cease.

Man slumbers; only heaven heeds,

Here in this hollow womb of peace.