III

A light before me swims,

Between dark stems the forest glows,

      I hear a noise of hymns:

Then by some secret shrine I ride;

      I hear a voice, but none are there;

The stalls are void, the doors are wide,

      The tapers burning fair.

Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,

      The silver vessels sparkle clean,

The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,

      And solemn chaunts resound between.