Classic Poem

As when the prayers and chants have passed away,
At mass, when nave and chancel dim are dense
With purple fumes of cloud-like curled incense,
One bows before the altar's sovereign sway
And wanders forth into the garish day,
Waking as after slumber from the tense
And strange delight of the exalted sense
Unto the dull world's hurry and delay

So you being gone out of my life and soul,
Gold censer on whose breath my life was fed!
Monstrance that held of old love's sacred bread!
I am as one that runs without a goal,
The course I go that once foretold my gain
Being now most flat, unprofitable and vain.