A Winter Minster

A poem by Michael Earls

And all the grottoed aisles along,
Where servitors rejoice,
The chorused echoes run-

Oremus nos.

The inspiration of the breeze
Gives every reed a voice
From tenebrae and silences;
Over the valleys borne,
Come organ harmonies;
And when the low winds call,
The pines with miserere mourn
A requiem musical,
Softer than moonbeams fall
Across the starry oriels of night,
Flooding the azure round
With hushed delight
And sanctity of sound.

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