Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/200

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POEMS.
 And now the white walls widened, and the vaultSwelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome,Such as the Florentine, who bore the nameOf heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since, Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane,The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay,In which the Little People of the SnowWere wont to take their pastime when their tasksUpon the mountain's side and in the cloudsWere ended. Here they taught the silent frostTo mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower,The growths of summer. Here the palm uprearedIts white columnar trunk and spotless sheafOf plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as thoseOf Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs,
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