WE sat and sang our hymns. The sweet-mouthed organ Muted its music into dreariest drones. The widow chose, then the aunt and strait-lipped daughter, And rejoiced in the lingering, lugubrious tones. Through the west mullion I could see the hawthorn Baring his boughs, and scarce a leaf left behind. The plain cold light grew dusk as we chose on, And voices with the sad-stopped organ whined. And then I chose "The Church's One Foundation," Because, I said, as a boy I liked it best. As we sang all five versus I saw through the window The young naked moon couched on the hawthorn's breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON A FAIR BEGGAR by PHILIP AYRES ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE: THE POWER OF MUSIC by SAMUEL LISLE A LITTLE WHILE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI DISCIPLINE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE PLACE WHERE MAN SHOULD DIE by MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY INTRODUCTORY AND VALEDICTORY by LEVI BISHOP THE WEDDING FEAST: 3 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: APOLLO AND THE FATES by ROBERT BROWNING |