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Displayed
itself
to
me
the
saintly
host
,
Whom
Christ
in
his
own
blood
had
made
his
bride
,
But
the
other
host
,
that
flying
sees
and
sings
The
glory
of
Him
who
doth
enamour
it
,
And
the
goodness
that
created
it
so
noble
,
Even
as
a
swarm
of
bees
,
that
sinks
in
flowers
One
moment
,
and
the
next
returns
again
To
where
its
labour
is
to
sweetness
turned
,
Sank
into
the
great
flower
,
that
is
adorned
With
leaves
so
many
,
and
thence
reascended
