The priest speaks gently of God’s claims
To wistful folk with coughs that bark.
Here all is hushed and rabbit-still,
The bull-necked columns, numb with gout
Of countless ages by God’s will
Cast crêpe-like shadows long and stout.
Two narrow slits of coloured glass
Are pierced by spears of mellow light,
The only light allowed to pass
Into this consecrated night.