These People Have Not Heard Your Name; No Loungers In This Placid Place Have Helped To Bruit Your Beauty'S Fame. The Grey Cathedral, Towards Whose Face Bend Eyes Untold, Has Met Not Yours; Your Shade Has Never Swept Its Base, Your Form Has Never Darked Its Doors, Nor Have Your Faultless Feet Once Thrown A Pensive Pit-Pat On Its Floors. Along The Street To Maids Well Known Blithe Lovers Hum Their Tender Airs, But In Your Praise Voice Not A Tone. - Since Nought Bespeaks You Here, Or Bears, As I, Your Imprint Through And Through, Here Might I Rest, Till My Heart Shares The Spot'S Unconsciousness Of You! Salisbury.