Now came to mind, as he rode sorrowing home, An hermit's sanctuary all husht and dim. There in the lonely forest is he come To rest her soul with lowly chaunt and hymn, Till skyward rise o'er all a silvery dome Which the pale moon should in her sessions brim. But when he came anigh that holy door The silent fane seem'd stiller than of yore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIRTHDAY SONG by SIDNEY LANIER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HENRY PHIPPS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WINTER GARDEN THEATRE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE UNDERGRADUATE KILLED IN BATTLE; OXFORD, 1915 by GEORGE SANTAYANA |