The Cloister
Our eyes no longer sail the tidal streets,
Nor harbour where the hours like petals float
By sensual treasures glittering through thin walls
Of women's eyes and colour's mystery.
The roots of our eternal souls were fed
On the world's dung and now their blossoms gleam.
God gives to glisten in an angel's hair
These He has gardened, for they please His eyes.
Nor harbour where the hours like petals float
By sensual treasures glittering through thin walls
Of women's eyes and colour's mystery.
The roots of our eternal souls were fed
On the world's dung and now their blossoms gleam.
God gives to glisten in an angel's hair
These He has gardened, for they please His eyes.
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