Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/VIII.
VIII.
My heart is hushed and holy,
And pure and calm my soul,
Like aisles in old cathedrals,
Where organ billows roll.
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.
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.
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.
Mysteriously divine,
That overfloods with glory
That twilight soul of mine.