METHOUGHT that in a solemn church I stood. Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet, Lay spread from door to door, from street to street. Midway the form hung high upon the rood Of him who gave his life to be our good; Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet, Among the candles shining still and sweet. Men came and went, and worshipped as they could— And still their dust a woman with her broom, Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door. Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom, Across the church a silent figure come: "Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor!" It is the Lord! I cried, and saw no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN: THE POWER OF LOVE by JOHN FLETCHER THE FISHERMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CHRISTMAS EPITHALAMIUM by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. DEATH by EVGENY ABRAMOVICH BARATYNSKY JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 3 by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: FOURTH ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE KITTEN OF THE REGIMENT by JAMES BUCKHAM |