Old Cathedral
A POEM
This granite faith was pressed against the sky
And, wonder, stood alone;
The truth of God translated for the eye,
A massive, silent prayer in stone.
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Pain of Late Conversion
Have mercy, Lord, and by your blood
wash from my brain
the sly recurring pain
…
Thaws
Around our March balcony tonight
Fog closes its slight hand — illusive blue —
Paradoxical in the Extreme
Evidently a man of coarse, even slovenly, personal habits, Auden was as meticulous as T.S. Eliot in the precision of his verse.