Bathing my temples, as in Easter week,
In Rome’s cathedrals, ere the Fathers speak,
They lave in holy-water. Unopposed,
My burning, lightning-learning lips would seek
With hers communion; and though undisclosed
The secrets whispered, yet our hearts full well supposed.
We floated on, with wings extended wide,
To that fair region, where the thoughts of men,
The holiest they breathe, like angels glide,
Gathering the purely beautiful, and then