Where but so short a while before had stood The modest church in sacred silentness, Now ruins with their grim and blackened dress Bear the unhappy sign of widowhood: Smoke circles from a small charred cross of wood While altar cloths, strewn with the carelessness Of entrails from the sacrifice express A sadness that no other ruin could. Slowly the priest draws near God's house of prayer With eyes that tell what lips refuse to speak. A curious crowd breaks way to let him by For in his face has come a great despair As if his hopes had turned as sere and bleak As that scarred cross mute pointing toward the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 28 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING EYE-WITNESS by FREDERICK RIDGELY TORRENCE LONG LIVE LIFE by JACQUES BARON IF YOU PLAY A GAME OF CHANCE by WILLIAM BLAKE CALL OF THE OPEN by LAURA E. BRADSHAW THE LAMP ON THE PRAIRIE by PHOEBE CARY IRREGULAR ODE, ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON by CALEB C. COLTON |