EVEN as when utter summer makes the grain <br />Bow heavily along through the whole land <br />It seems to me whatever while I stand <br />Where thou art standing; and upon my brain <br />Thy presence weighs like a most awful strain <br />Of music, heard in some cathedral fanned <br />With the deep breath of prayer, while the priest's hand <br />Uplifts the solemn sign which shall remain <br />After the world. Thy beauty perfecteth <br />A noble calmness in me; it doth send <br />Through my weak heart to my strong mind a rule <br />Of life that they shall keep till shut of death: <br />Death—an arched path too long to see the end, <br />But which hath shadows that seem pure and cool.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-altar-flame/
