At the Church-Gate

Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot     Ofttimes I hover; And near the sacred gate With longing eyes I wait,     Expectant of her. The minster bell tolls out Above the city’s rout,     And noise and humming; They ’ve hushed the minster bell; The organ ’gins to swell;     She ’s coming, coming! My lady comes at last, Timid and stepping fast,     And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes,—she ’s here, she ’s past!     May Heaven go with her! Kneel undisturbed, fair saint! Pour out your praise or plaint     Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer     With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place,     Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through heaven’s gate,     Angels within it.