Poem: Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,

Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,

Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love

Than terrors of red flame and thundering.

The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring:

A bird at evening flying to its nest

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Tells me of One who had no place of rest:

上海龙凤shlf最新地址I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Come rather on some autumn afternoon,

When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,

And the fields echo to the gleaner's song,

Come when the splendid fulness of the moon

Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,

And reap Thy harvest:  we have waited long.