An Archbishop In Arabia - Poem by Will Barber
The Archbishop walked in the garden
In the desert where he dwelt;
There were rumors of horizon
Which seemed to say farewell.
The light of the green evening
Reached deep into his dreams
And memories; he was given
No intimation of release.
Let there be choirs - he thought -
To bring my forefathers home
From the merciful desert,
Into undying flame.
The pale archbishop ascended;
His lips were like the night,
Guarding unutterable prophecies
That fail, or come too late.
He gave his hands to heaven,
That the words be given back,
That the dreams might leave him
To his living work.
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