MARVEL of marvels, if I myself shall behold With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold; Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold, Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled, Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled. O saints, my beloved, now mouldering to mould in the mould, Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unroll'd, See with these very eyes? who now in darkness and cold Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold, -- The Bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold! Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was toll'd: Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARADISI GLORIA by THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 36. LIFE-IN-LOVE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE FLITCH OF BACON: MY OLD COMPLAINT (ITS CAUSE AND CURE) by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH EXALTATION by HILDA WHILT ARCHER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 21. THE WORLD'S MARRIAGE MORN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) FIRST SAMUEL: AFTER THE SHAMANS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |