Others will spread the board now you are gone
Here where you smiled and gave your guests to eat,
Learning your menial kingliness from One
Who washed His servant’s feet;
Along the slumbering corridors betimes
Others will knock and other footsteps pass
Down the wet lane e’er the thin shivering chimes
Toll for the early mass.
Yet in the chapel’s self no sorrows sing
In the strange priest’s voice, nor any dolour grips