Page:Poet Lore, At the Chasm, volume 24, 1913.pdf/32

316 Thou the traitorous, the constant! Come again! The church in sadness Meditates: 'God! How the stars gleam! What unending light of diamonds! Space is now a blazing chapel. Oh, what myriad lamps in heaven! In the air what deep transparence! Ah, would but one star come hither, Fix itself among my shadows! Ah, if but its trembling brightness Would illuminate my shadows!'

On a night in chill December How did it befall? We know not One cold night, so cold, so frigid That amid the radiant heavens, All the stars, bestrewn and scattered Like a rain of orange blossoms, Shivered—it was then a pilgrim Came there, sad and solitary. 'Twixt acanthus leaves, deep carven On a capital, which, fallen, Overturned upon the herbage, Had become a vase of foliage, His gnarled staff he placed; then forward Took his way, the steps ascending, Portico and portal passing. The birds whispered, 'Who is coming? Who is this? A saint? An image, From its ancient niche downfallen?' No, it is a man! The pilgrim Passed from sight at length, and vanished In the depths of dim, dark shadows. Suddenly it creaked, the temple; Fleeting flashes crossed the shadows, As if shining flags were passing. And a miracle was wrought there: Rose the porch, severe, triumphant; All the walls grew whole and solid, All the pillars rose unbroken,