ANGEL

Now let the golden prison ope its gates,

Making sweet music, as each fold revolves

Upon its ready hinge. And ye great powers,

Angels of Purgatory, receive from me

My charge, a precious soul, until the day, 880

When, from all bond and forfeiture released,

I shall reclaim it for the courts of light.

The Dream of Gerontius · 第 73 / 81 题