Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . is state-chamber, dying by degrees,Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask Do I live, am I dead ? Peace, peace seems Praxeds ever was the church for peace ;And so, about this tomb of mine. I foughtWith tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:—Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care ;Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner SouthHe graced his carrion with, God curse the same!Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thenceOne sees the pulpit o the epistle-side,And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats,And up into t
Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . is state-chamber, dying by degrees,Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask Do I live, am I dead ? Peace, peace seems Praxeds ever was the church for peace ;And so, about this tomb of mine. I foughtWith tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:—Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care ;Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner SouthHe graced his carrion with, God curse the same!Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thenceOne sees the pulpit o the epistle-side,And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats,And up into the aery dome where liveThe angels, and a sunbeam s sure to lurk :And I shall fill my slab of basalt neath my tabernacle take my those nine columns round me, two and two,The odd one at my feet where Anselm stands:Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the ripeAs fresh-poured red wine of a mighty pulse.—Old Gandolf with his paltry me where I may look at him ! True peach,Rosy and flawless : how I earned the prize ! 84 .1 [. \^ ^ THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB Draw close : that conflagration of my church—What then ? So much was saved if aught were missed !My sons, ye would not be my death ? Go digThe white-grape vineyard where the oil-press stood,Drop water gently till the surface if ye find . Ah, God I know not, I! . , .Bedded in store of rotten figleaves soft,And corded up in a tight lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli,Big as a Jews head cut off at the nape,Blue as a vein oer the Madonnas breast . .Sons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, all,That brave Frascati villa with its bath,So, let the blue lump poise between my knees,Like God the Fathers globe on both his handsYe worship in the Jesu Church so Gandolf shall not choose but see and burst!Swift as a weavers shuttle fleet our years :Man goeth to the grave, and where is he ?Did I say basalt for my slab, sons ? Black—Twas ever antique-black I meant! How elseShall
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Keywords: ., bookauthorgarnettr, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1904
