The Church of Vision and Dream
Is it for naught that where the tired crowds see
Only a place for trade, a teeming square,
Doors of high portent open unto me
Carved with great eagles, and with Hawthorns rare?
Doors I proclaim, for there are rooms forgot
Ripened through æons by the good and wise:
Walls set with Art’s own pearl and amethyst
Angel-wrought hangings there, and heaven-hued dyes:—
Dazzling the eye of faith, the hope-filled heart:—