Serene, he mounts the minaret of day; Where purple spreads the world his footsteps pause. Splendors from whence he rose still flame his grey And amethystine robes to golden gauze. Priestly and pure, he stands within the curve Precipitous that fronts the chasmed west. The blowing birds that wove his hem in swerve And arabesque of jet, flicker to rest. And now his voice, a tide of silence, pours Across the desert's pallor and the palms: "Come forth to God from all your darkened doors." Who pause for prayer? Partake the sacred calms? Pass and repass the women with their jars; But faithful come those worshipers, the stars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR [MARCH 9, 1862] by GEORGE M. BAKER IMITATION OF POPE: A COMPLIMENT TO THE LADIES by WILLIAM BLAKE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AT LAST by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE ART OF WRITING by PHILIP AYRES A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS BOX; A LEGEND OF THE HAYMARKET by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE SECOND BROTHER; ACT 1, SCENE 2 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: I WILL SMILE NO MORE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |