AT THE CHURCH GATE.

Although I enter not,

Yet round about the spot

Ofttimes I hover:

And near the sacred gate,

With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

The Minster bell tolls out

Above the city's rout,

And noise and humming:

They've hush'd the Minster bell:

The organ‘ gins to swell:

She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid, and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast:

She comes — she's here — she's past —

May heaven go with her!

Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint!

Pour out your praise or plaint

Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there,

To sully your pure prayer

With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace

Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute

Like outcast spirits who wait

And see through heaven's gate

Angels within it.