SPEAK low! -- the place is holy to the breath Of awful harmonies, of whispered prayer; Tread lightly! -- for the sanctity of death Broods with a voiceless influence on the air: Stern, yet serene! -- a reconciling spell, Each troubled billow of the soul to quell. Leave me to linger silently awhile! -- Not for the light that pours its fervid streams Of rainbow glory down through arch and aisle, Kindling old banners into haughty gleams, Flushing proud shrines, or by some warrior's tomb Dying away in clouds of gorgeous gloom: Not for rich music, though in triumph pealing, Mighty as forest sounds when winds are high; Nor yet for torch, and cross, and stole, revealing Through incense-mists their sainted pageantry: -- Though o'er the spirit each hath charm and power, Yet not for @3these@1 I ask one lingering hour. But by strong sympathies, whose silver chord Links me to mortal weal, my soul is bound; Thoughts of the human hearts, that here have poured Their anguish forth, are with me and around; -- I look back on the pangs, the burning tears, Known to these altars of a thousand years. Send up a murmur from the dust. Remorse! That here hast bowed with ashes on thy head; And thou, still battling with the tempest's force -- Thou, whose bright spirit through all time has bled -- Speak, wounded Love! if penance here, or prayer, Hath laid one haunting shadow of despair? No voice, no breath! -- of conflicts past, no trace! -- Doth not this hush give answer to my quest? Surely the dread religion of the place By every grief hath made its might confest! -- Oh! that within my heart I could but keep Holy to Heaven, a spot thus pure, and still, and deep! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ADMIRER by CLAUDIA EMERSON PROSOPOPOIA, OR MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE by EDMUND SPENSER MUSIC OF HUNGARY by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH DESCRIBES THE PLACE WHERE CYNTHIA IS SPORTING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES THE ORGANIST IN HEAVEN (SAMUEL SEBASTIAN WESLEY) by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |