Through light green haze, a rolling sea Over gardens where redundance flows, The fat old plain of Lombardy, The White Cathedral shows. Of Art the miracles Its tribes of pinnacles Gleam like to ice-peaks snowed; and higher, Erect upon each airy spire In concourse without end, Statues of saints over saints ascend Like multitudinous forks of fire. What motive was the master-builder's here? Why these synodic hierarchies given, Sublimely ranked in marble sessions clear, Except to signify the host of heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAY AND DEATH by ROBERT BROWNING LIFE'S MIRROR by MARY AINGE DE VERE ARIZONA POEMS: 2. MEXICAN QUARTER by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER EVERYONE SANG by SIEGFRIED SASSOON AGAMEMNON: WELCOME TO AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS A PRELUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. RUSTIC INTERIOR by JOHN ARMSTRONG |