In a Cathedral City

    These people have not heard your name;
    No loungers in this placid place
    Have helped to bruit your beauty’s fame.

    The grey Cathedral, towards whose face
    Bend eyes untold, has met not yours;
    Your shade has never swept its base,

    Your form has never darked its doors,
    Nor have your faultless feet once thrown
    A pensive pit-pat on its floors.

    Along the street to maids well known
    Blithe lovers hum their tender airs,
    But in your praise voice not a tone.

    — Since nought bespeaks you here, or bears,
    As I, your imprint through and through,
    Here might I rest, till my heart shares
    The spot’s unconsciousness of you!