My temple hath yon city roofs for floor; For roof, the azure; and, to stay the roof, A thousand alabastrine columns soar In coiling smoke that, silent, steals aloof! My temple builds itself at windless prime,— At dawn,—or in the rosy eventime; Ere garish midday, roof and pillar melt,— And they are gone,—the Blest, who there have knelt! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETROSPECT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO JOSIAH ROYCE by BRENT DOW ALLINSON CELESTIAL HEIGHTS by ALFRED AUSTIN EMERGENCY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE SHADOW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 27 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |