Edmund Gosse (1849–1928)

HIGH in the organ-loft with lilied hair,

Love plied the pedals with his snowy foot,

Pouring forth music like the scent of fruit,

And stirring all the incense-laden air;

We knelt before the altar’s gold rail, where

The priest stood robed, with chalice and palm-shoot,

With music-men who bore citole and lute

Behind us, and the attendant virgins fair.

And so our red aurora flash’d to gold,

Our dawn to sudden sun; and all the while

The high-voiced children trebled clear and cold,

The censer-boys went swinging down the aisle,

And far above, with fingers strong and sure,

Love closed our lives’ triumphant overture.