Volume 2 — From The Month KIRKSTALL ABBEY: A SONNET.
Reading edition
Roll on by tower and arch, autumnal river; And ere about thy dusk yet gleaming tide The phantom of dead day hath ceased to glide, Whisper it to the reeds that round thee quiver— Yea, whisper to those ivy-bowers that shiver Hard by on gusty choir and cloister wide: "My bubbles break; my weed-flowers seaward glide: My freshness and my mission last for ever!" Young moon, from leaden tomb of cloud that soarest, And whitenest those hoar elm-trees, wrecks forlorn Of olden Airedale's hermit-haunted forest, Speak thus: "I died; and lo, I am reborn!" Blind, patient pile, sleep on in radiance! Truth Fails not; and faith once more shall wake in endless youth. AUBREY DE VERE.
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