Without, the sullen noises of the street! <br />The voice of London, inarticulate, <br />Hoarse and blaspheming, surges in to meet <br />The silent blessing of the Immaculate. <br /> <br />Dark is the church, and dim the worshippers, <br />Hushed with bowed heads as though by some old spell. <br />While through the incense-laden air there stirs <br />The admonition of a silver bell. <br /> <br />Dark is the church, save where the altar stands, <br />Dressed like a bride, illustrious with light, <br />Where one old priest exalts with tremulous hands <br />The one true solace of man's fallen plight. <br /> <br />Strange silence here: without, the sounding street <br />Heralds the world's swift passage to the fire: <br />O Benediction, perfect and complete! <br />When shall men cease to suffer and desire?<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/benedictio-domini/
