In the Oratory

Arthur Symons

1865 to 1945

Poem Image
Track 1

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Thundered Beethoven’s Mass in C.
That seals my doom or conquers thee?
Upon the mounts of Paradise.
Lay heavy on the sombre eyes,
Inexplicable eyes that drew
She knelt in prayer; large lids serene
Expecting the divine event.
The incense mounted like a cloud,
And infinitely far away.
Then silence, like a prisoner bound,
Brooded, mysteriously alone,
Rose, by a mighty hand set free,
A golden cloud of languid scent;
And dazzlingly, in shafts of sound,
Demand, new Sphinx, the fatal clue
The face that twilight shows the day,
Her dark face, calm as carven stone.
Mine eyes adoring, why from me
Robed priests before the altar bowed,
As though to veil some vision seen

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