Through light green haze, a rolling sea Over gardens where redundance flows, The fat old plain of Lombardy, The White Cathedral shows. Of Art the miracles Its tribes of pinnacles Gleam like to ice-peaks snowed; and higher, Erect upon each airy spire In concourse without end, Statues of saints over saints ascend Like multitudinous forks of fire. What motive was the master-builder's here? Why these synodic hierarchies given, Sublimely ranked in marble sessions clear, Except to signify the host of heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK AT HOME by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN THE VANGUARD by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE EAGLE OF SONG by BACCHYLIDES RARE DESTINY by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY A REMEMBRANCE OF SOME ENGLISH POETS by RICHARD BARNFIELD |