How many churches hast thou, Mother and Queen ! Shrine after shrine like lilies star the lands,

Where from the coolness of thy praying hands Beauty with all things shining and serene Gladdens the race whose one immaculate flower Virgin, thou art—that first, which pilgrims know, Traced by the Pope’s staff in the August snow, And thy Siena’s black and silver tower,

And Beverley’s Gothic maternity,

And that white temple, roofed with starry flame, Which learned Pius, fond with thoughts of home, Built at Pienza, when the pontifical name Descended from the High Priest’s seat in Rome Upon the town of his nativity.

Wilfred Childe.