Here by the ample rivers argent sweep,
Bosomed in tilth and vintage to her walls,
A tower-crowned Cybele in armoured sleep
The city lies, fat plenty in her halls,
With calm parochial spires that hold in fee
The friendly gables clustered at their base,
And, equipoised oer tower and market-place,
The Gothic ministers winged immensity;
And in that narrow burgh, with equal mood,
Two placid hearts, to all lifes good resigned,
Might, from the altar to the lych-gate, find
Long years of peace and dreamless plenitude.
La Vierge Au Donateur
written byEdith Wharton
© Edith Wharton