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An Altar-Flame

Rating: 2.7

EVEN as when utter summer makes the grain
Bow heavily along through the whole land
It seems to me whatever while I stand
Where thou art standing; and upon my brain
Thy presence weighs like a most awful strain
Of music, heard in some cathedral fanned
With the deep breath of prayer, while the priest's hand
Uplifts the solemn sign which shall remain
After the world. Thy beauty perfecteth
A noble calmness in me; it doth send

Through my weak heart to my strong mind a rule
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Awuah-Mainoo Gabriel 08 November 2017

Great write up

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