Sea-mosses hide the massive architrave, Beneath the ruined porch a sheep-bell rings, And where Hild's gleemen sang to silver strings Now sound the wailing harps of wind and wave; But though dreams pass, the restless gulls that brave The bitter gales still seek the peace which clings To hallowed walls, and furl their foam-white wings Along the reaches of the silent nave. And throstles at the greening of the year In their wild singing weave the chants of old That saints have limned with many a colored bar, -- The very song the angels paused to hear When Caedmon knelt within the cattle-fold Between the moonrise and the morning star. |