Nor later, when with her my childhood died, <br />Was life less sealed to me. The Church became <br />My guardian next and mother deified, <br />Who lit within me a more subtle flame <br />Of constancy, and clothed me in her mood. <br />No sound, no voice within that sanctuary <br />Told me of common evil. Unsubdued <br />And vast and strange, a thing from which to flee, <br />The world lay there without us. We within, <br />Fenced in and folded safe in our strong home, <br />Knew nothing of the sorrow and the sin. <br />'Tis no small matter to have lived in Rome, <br />In the Church's very bosom and abode, <br />Cloistered and cradled there, a child of God.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xxiii/
