Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/121



With brief hot touch, so marvellous and shining, A hundred steeples on the sky out-lining, Like network threads of fire; Above them all, with halo far outspreading, I saw a golden cross in glory heading A consecrated spire:

I only saw its gleaming form uplifting, Against the clouds of grey to seaward drifting, And yet I surely know Beneath the seen, a great unseen is resting, For while the cross that pinnacle is cresting, An Altar lies below.

Night of Mid-June, so slumberous and tender, Night of Mid-June, transcendent in thy splendour Thy silent wings enfold And hush my longing, as at thy desire All colour fades from round that far-off spire, Except its cross of gold.