Here you will find thePoemEvensongof poet Mathilde Blind
(Holy Trinity Church.) THE hectic autumn's dilatory fire Has turned this lime tree to a sevenfold brand, Which, self consuming, lights the sunless land, A death to which all poet souls aspire. Above the graves, where all men's vain desire Is hushed at last as by a Mother's hand, And, Time confounded, Love's blank records stand, The Evensong swells from the pulsing choir. What incommunicable presence clings To this grey church and willowy twilight stream? Am I the dupe of some delusive dream? Or, like faint fluid phosphorent rings On refluent seas, doth Shakespeare's spirit gleam Pervasive round these old familiar things?
