Page:Poems (IA poemsthomrich).pdf/41

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TO THE DEAD CARDINAL OF WESTMINSTER.

I will not perturbate
Thy Paradisal state
With praise
Of thy dead days;

To the new-heavened say,—
"Spirit, thou wert fine clay:"
This do,
Thy praise who knew.

Therefore my spirit clings
Heaven's porter by the wings,
And holds
Its gated golds

Apart, with thee to press
A private business;—
Whence,
Deign me audience.

Anchorite, who didst dwell
With all the world for cell!
My soul
Round me doth roll

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