In Church

From New Poems (1916).

In the choir the boys are singing the hymn.	 
        The morning light on their lips	 
Moves in silver-moist flashes, in musical trim.	 
  
Sudden outside the high window, one crow	 
        Hangs in the air	         
And lights on a withered oak-tree's top of woe.	 
  
One bird, one blot, folded and still at the top	 
        Of the withered tree!--in the grail	 
Of crystal heaven falls one full black drop.	 
  
Like a soft full drop of darkness it seems to sway	  
        In the tender wine	 
Of our Sabbath, suffusing our sacred day.