Edward Dowden - In the Cathedral lyrics

The altar-lights burn low, the incense-fume Sickens: O listen, how the priestly prayer Runs as a fenland stream; a dim despair Hails through their chaunt of praise, who here inhume A clay-cold Faith within its carven tomb. But come thou forth into the vital air Keen, dark, and pure! grave Night is no betrayer, And if perchance some faint cold star illume Her brow of mystery, shall we walk forlorn? An altar of the natural rock may rise Somewhere for men who seek; there may be borne On the night-wind authentic prophecies: If not, let this--to breathe sane breath--suffice, Till in yon East, mayhap, the dark be worn.