AT THE CHURCH GATE.

Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover: And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her.

The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming: They've hush'd the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell: She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast: She comes—she's here—she's past— May heaven go with her!

Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven's gate Angels within it.