Swell’d out like rushing waters, and the day
With the sweet censer’s misty breath grew dim,
As through long aisles it floated o’er th’ array
Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone
And unapproach’d, beside the altar-stone,
With the white banner forth like sunshine streaming,
And the gold helm through clouds of fragrance gleaming.
Silent and radiant stood? The helm was raised,
And the fair face reveal’d, that upward gazed,
Intensely worshipping—a still, clear face,