A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass

Fragment

          What is poetry?  Is it a mosaic
           Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought
           Into a pattern?  Rather glass that's taught
          By patient labor any hue to take
          And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make
           Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught,
           Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught
          With storied meaning for religion's sake.