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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339791" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Baptistry</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound<br>Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature's rest,<br>As she lay sleeping, with her hair unbound,<br>Holding her grey robe to her shivering breast,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I enter'd through a low-arch'd oaken door,<br>Circled with curious sculpture; and I crept<br>With slow, hush'd footsteps, o'er the shadow'd floor,<br>Where organ notes in sudden silence slept;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far down the aisle, where darkness seem'd to brood<br>With such wide-spreading wings, and where the sigh<br>Of murmur'd prayer scarce came,—until I stood<br>In the deep stillness of the Baptistry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, in the dim side-chapel, no bright glow<br>From jewelled windows on the wall was shed;<br>No sunbeams rested on the font below,<br>Or kiss'd those mighty arches overhead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soft lines and curves went upward, and were lost<br>In solemn shadow and in dreamy space;<br>Only the level floor was faintly crost<br>With glimmering brightness from the holy place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, as I listen'd, I heard music sweet<br>Trembling and swelling through the soundless air,<br>Threading dark aisles, as if an angel's feet<br>Were bidden bring God's message to me there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! and the echo of those anthem notes<br>Wanders and whispers in my heart for aye:<br>In all my life the mystic language floats,<br>Fitful and faint, as in my ears that day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One whom we knew had enter'd into rest—<br>Calm on the pillow lay his hoary head;<br>And through that music spoke, in accents blest,<br>Our holy Mother's voice, hallowing the dead,<br>Telling of perfect peace, of labours done,<br>Of long years' sorrow turned to joy at last—<br>The quiet sleep, when battles all are won—<br>The hush of evening when the day is past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I look'd upon the font, and mused of all<br>Its wondrous meaning, till my thoughts grew dim<br>And vast and shadowy as those columns tall;—<br>Morning of life for me—death's night for him!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How fancy tried to span that awful space<br>Between the two—between the here and there!<br>To bridge the nave—up to that blessed Place<br>Where light and song stream'd on the chancel-stair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dim recollections drifted through my brain—<br>Echoing footfalls of past childish years,<br>When the baptismal robe had less of stain,<br>E'en though unwash'd by penitential tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw the gloomy shadows o'er my head,<br>And sigh'd to think how I had suffer'd loss;<br>I saw the soft light, and was comforted,—<br>I knew it shone straight from the chancel-cross.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A few more steps, and then I stood below<br>The towering minster coronet again;<br>Down on my face that pure and gentle glow<br>Fell, like a pitying kiss in time of pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down to my feet it stream'd; a passage dim,<br>With hosts of phantom-shapes on either side,<br>It drifted through;—as songs of seraphim<br>Drift through our mourning hearts at Easter-tide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Looking up then, I seem'd to see my life,—<br>A long, dim vista, where the rays descend—<br>Where light and darkness wage continual strife;<br>But only light—the full light—at the end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339791" data-title="The Baptistry de Ada Cambridge" data-description="One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound
Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature's rest,
As she lay sleeping, with her hair unbound,
Holding her grey robe to her shivering breast,

I enter'd through a low-arch'd oaken door,
Circled with curio..."></div>
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