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ST. AGNES.

I.

DEEP on the convent-roof the snows

Are sparkling to the moon:

My breath to heaven like vapour goes: May my soul follow soon !

The shadows of the convent-towers

Slant down the snowy sward,

Still creeping with the creeping hours

That lead me to my

Lord :'

Make Thou my spirit pure and clear

As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year

That in my bosom lies.

II.

As these white robes are soiled and dark,

To yonder shining ground;

As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,

My spirit before Thee;

So in mine earthly house I am,

To that I hope to be.

Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,

Thro' all yon starlight keen,

Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,

In raiment white and clean.

III.

He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;

All heaven bursts her starry floors,

And strows her lights below,

And deepens on and up! the gates

Roll back, and far within

For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,

To make me pure of sin.

The sabbaths of Eternity,

One sabbath deep and wideA light upon the shining sea —

The Bridegroom with his bride!

SIR GALAHAD.

I.

My good blade carves the casques

of men,

My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,

The hard brands shiver on the steel,

The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,

The horse and rider reel :

They reel, they roll in clanging lists,

And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers,

That lightly rain from ladies' hands.

II.

How sweet are looks that ladies bend

On whom their favours fall! For them I battle till the end,

To save from shame and thrall:

But all my heart is drawn above,

My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine :

I never felt the kiss of love,

Nor maiden's hand in mine.

More bounteous aspects on me beam,

Me mightier transports move and thrill;

So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer

A virgin heart in work and will.

III.

When down the stormy crescent goes,
A light before me swims,
Between dark stems the forest glows,
I hear a noise of hymns:

Then by some secret shrine I ride;
I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.

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