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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - World`s Worth
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`TIS of the Father Hilary. 
            He strove, but could not pray; so took 
            The steep-coiled stair, where his feet shook 
       A sad blind echo. Ever up 
            He toiled. `Twas a sick sway of air 
            That autumn noon within the stair, 
       As dizzy as a turning cup. 
            His brain benumbed him, void and thin; 
            He shut his eyes and felt it spin; 
        The obscure deafness hemmed him in. 
       He said: “O world, what world for me?” 
       He leaned unto the balcony 
            Where the chime keeps the night and day; 
            It hurt his brain, he could not pray. 
       He had his face upon the stone: 
            Deep `twixt the narrow shafts, his eye 
            Passed all the roofs to the stark sky, 
       Swept with no wing, with wind alone. 
            Close to his feet the sky did shake 
        With wind in pools that the rains make; 
            The ripple set his eyes to ache. 
       He said: “O world, what world for me?” 


       He stood within the mystery 
            Girding God`s blessed Eucharist: 
            The organ and the chaunt had ceas`d. 
       The last words paused against his ear 
            Said from the altar: drawn round him 
            The gathering rest was dumb and dim. 
       And now the sacring-bell rang clear 
        And ceased; and all was awe,—the breath 
            Of God in man that warranteth 
            The inmost utmost things of faith. 
       He said: “O God, my world in Thee!”
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