In a Cathedral City

These people have not heard your name;
No loungers in this placid place
Have helped to bruit your beauty's fame.

The grey Cathedral, towards whose face 
Bend eyes untold, has met not yours; 
Your shade has never swept its base,

Your form has never darked its doors, 
Nor have your faultless feet once thrown 
A pensive pit-pat on its floors.

Along the street to maids well known
Blithe lovers hum their tender airs,
But in your praise voice not a tone. ...

— Since nought bespeaks you here, or bears, 
As I, your imprint through and through, 
Here might I rest, till my heart shares 
The spot's unconsciousness of you!

Salisbury.