Evening in Salisbury Close

THE sudden sunlight swept the minster-close,
Day’s expiation for its hours of gloom ;
And every figure on the fair façade,
Each saint with hand uplifted, gained a grace,
A happier halo than the sculptor’s art,
Howe’er so marvel-working, had bestowed.
Only the pillared porch and those deep eyes.
The windows wide that ever watch the west,
Caught the wind-wavering shadows of the elms.
All the great Gothic glory of the spire
Reached heavenward irradiate ; gray to gold
By momentary magic turned, and poised
Like some aerial pinnacle of dream.
And while the sight hung on the miracle,
Out of the silent symmetry of the tower
Slipped down the unseen silver of the chimes,
Softer than snowfall, soothing as the sense
Of slumber after vigils held till dawn.
Clinton Scollard.