At High Mass

"From whom it seemed as though there rose a star."
Guido Cavalcanti.

It was a day of festival, July
Burnt down through fleecy clouds in sultry heat,
Within the church through the triforium high
Fell yellow light on pulpit, desk and seat;

While through the door, which pointed Gothic arch
On antique granite lions loved to load,
Came sounds of joyous song and rhythmic march
And lowing herds from market-place and road.

It was High Mass; the organ poured a flood
Of music forth, and called upon the Lord.
Far in the background two young soldiers stood,
Their fixed eyes turned to where the altar soared;

There they 'mid lighted tapers' festal sheen,
'Mid many-hued brocade and pomp of gold,
Their village church as it so oft had been
With flowers decked for Mary's month behold.

Beneath the brown curve of an arched recess,
Between two slender shafts in crimson dressed,
The lady knelt in all her loveliness,
With her fair hands ungloved together pressed.

The liquid lustre gleamed from her dark eye
Beneath her black-plumed hat's protecting shade,
And in a flash of faith her mystery
This flower of youth to God an offering made.

To me, as once to Guido, it had seemed
A star had issued from those upturned eyes,
And from those lips that scarcely moved I deemed
A winged angel mounted to the skies.

The star all tremulous with holy light
Now smiled and smiled, at what I do not know.
The suppliant angel Godward winged her flight,
'Thanks unto Thee, O Lord," her actions show.

Then, as the priest the "Ite" turned to say,
The strong sun broke through the obscuring cloud,
And on the lovely lady cast a ray
To crown her as she rose, her head still bowed.

A scarlet flush as though of shame then passed
O'er each Byzantine Saint imaged above,
But the Madonna fixed her eyes down cast
Upon her Son, and softly murmured "Love."