Читать книгу Oxford Poetry 1917-1921 - Various Authors - Страница 8
ОглавлениеTHE LAST ABBOT OF GLOUCESTER
The Middle Ages sleep in alabaster
A delicate fine sleep. They never knew
The irreparable hell of that disaster,
That broke with hammers Heaven's fragile blue.
Yea, crowned and robed and silent he abides,
Last of the Romans and that ivory calm,
Beneath whose wings august the minster-sides
Trembled like virgins to the perfect Psalm.
Yea, it is gone with him, yea, it returns not;
The gilt proud sanctuaries are dust, the high
Steam of the violet fragrant frankincense burns not:
All gone; it was too beautiful to die.
It was too beautiful to live; the world
Ne'er rotted it with her slow-creeping hells:
Men shall not see the Vision crowned and pearled,
When Jerusalem blossomed in the noontide bells!
