Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/VIII.

by Mathilde Blind

VIII.

My heart is hushed and holy, And pure and calm my soul,Like aisles in old cathedrals, Where organ billows roll.

And o'er my fancy flitteth A dim and lovely light,Like beams that fall and quiver Through oriel windows bright.

Oh thou, thou art the music That, like a tide, sweeps in,Waking the sacred echoes My spirit's deeps within.

And thou, thou art the splendour, Mysteriously divine,That overfloods with glory That twilight soul of mine.