Where but so short a while before had stood The modest church in sacred silentness, Now ruins with their grim and blackened dress Bear the unhappy sign of widowhood: Smoke circles from a small charred cross of wood While altar cloths, strewn with the carelessness Of entrails from the sacrifice express A sadness that no other ruin could. Slowly the priest draws near God's house of prayer With eyes that tell what lips refuse to speak. A curious crowd breaks way to let him by For in his face has come a great despair As if his hopes had turned as sere and bleak As that scarred cross mute pointing toward the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARABELLA STUART by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE NILE by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT YOUTH by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BOSTON by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON LONDON'S SUMMER MORNING by MARY DARBY ROBINSON THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 5. THE CHANGELING by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |