Kneeling he spoke the Names he loved the most As the air was fanned by the whir of invisible wings; He seemed like a priest about to breathe on the Host After the Sanctus rings. "This is My Body," he said on his First-Mass Day, When the rose of priesthood slipped its snowy bud, Lifting his chaliced heart now could he say At death, "This is My Blood." Swift as an altar chime the rifles rang. . . . The stole of crimson flowing over his breast, How bright it burned, and how his sealed lips sang The @3Ite, Missa Est!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WALL STREET PIT, MAY, 1901 by EDWIN MARKHAM MY FAMILIAR DREAM by PAUL VERLAINE SAILING BEYOND SEAS (OLD STYLE) by JEAN INGELOW VENICE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE FEILIRE OF ADAMNAN by ADAMNAN |