Cathedral Close

In the dean's porch a nest of clayWith five small tenants may be seen,Five solemn faces, each as wiseAs though its owner were a dean;

Five downy fledglings in a row,Packed close as in an antique pewThe schoolgirls are whose foreheads clearAt the Venite shine on you.

Day after day the swallows sitWith scarce a stir, with scarce a sound,But dreaming and digesting much,They grow thus wise and soft and round.

They watch the canons come to dine,And hear the mullion-bars across,Over the fragrant fruit and wine,Deep talk about the reredos.

Her hands with field-flowers drench'd, a childLeaps past in wind-blown dress and hair,The swallows turn their heads askew, —Five judges deem that she is fair.

Prelusive touches sound within,Straightway they recognize the sign,And, blandly nodding, they approveThe minuet of Rubenstein,

They mark the cousins' schoolboy talk,(Male birds flown wide from minster bell),And blink at each broad term of art,Binomial or bicycle.

Ah! downy young ones, soft and warm,Doth such a stillness mask from sightSuch swiftness? can such peace concealPassion and ecstasy of flight?

Yet somewhere 'mid your Eastern suns,Under a white Greek architraveAt morn, or when the shaft of fireLies large upon the India wave,

A sense of something dear gone byWill stir, strange longings thrill the heartFor a small world embowered and close,Of which ye some time were a part.

The dew-drench'd flowers, the child's glad eyes,Your joy unhuman shall control,And in your wings a light and windShall move from the maestro's soul.