In a Church of Padua

In vaulted place where shadows flit, 

An upright sombre box you see: 

A door, but fast, and lattice none.

But punctured holes minutely small 

In lateral silver panel square 

Above a kneeling-board without, 

Suggest an aim if not declare. 

Who bendeth here the tremulous knee 

No glimpse may get of him within, 

And he immured may hardly see 

The soul confessing there the sin; 

Nor yields the low-sieved voice a tone 

Whereby the murmurer may be known. 

Dread diving-bell! In thee inurned 

What hollows the priest must sound, 

Descending into consciences 

Where more is hid than found.