How patiently they did their work of old, Those cowled illuminators of the cells, Painting their vellum from the small ribbed shells That held the mystic carmine and the gold; Matching God's tints in every glowing fold, In nimbus, wing and robe; and by their spells, Seizing the living glory in the wells Of some great sunrise that His hand had scrolled. They made immortal cherubs that retain, In spite of Time and his effacing trace, Their pristine loveliness from age to age; As Death, the cowled one, with his brush of pain, Illuminates some lovely baby face, In sunrise tints on Memory's missal page. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GARDEN AGAIN by KAREN SWENSON SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER THE LITTLE DANCERS by LAURENCE BINYON THE CRYSTAL CABINET by WILLIAM BLAKE THE INCOGNITA OF RAPHAEL by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER THE COCK AND THE BULL by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |