I think that perhaps the most beautiful poem in the book is "The Trinkets." The following is the second stanza The standing whirlpool of the stars, The Wheel of all the world, Is a ring on Our Lady's finger With the suns and moons empearled.
With stars for stones to please her Who sits playing with her rings, With the great heart that a woman has And the love of little things.
There is a deep and a little awesome note of self-revelation in the sonnet that Mr. Chesterton calls "The Convert"?
The. sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free; And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.
in "John O'London's Week-
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.