THE Lion d'Or at Quimperlè Housed abbots in a holier day, And yet the vesper bell Means much in an hostel. Its pensive note moves saint and sinner, It calls my heart and me to dinner, Whereof the plates are plied By grace personified. But she who wields the coffee-pot (Smiling on some, on others not), Ah! she is more divine Than abbey, church, or shrine. Eyes like a moonbeam, and a face Where dimples run a joyous race— My friend, if you could see How she hath smiled on me! Ah, that I could for ever stay In the Lion d'Or at Quimperlè! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VIKING GRAVE AT LADBY by KAREN SWENSON FOUR QUARTETS: BURNT NORTON by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE RIVER by RALPH WALDO EMERSON COLUMBUS by EDWARD EVERETT HALE A PSALM OF LIFE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |