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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Eustochium's mother!
Eustochium—those who looked upon her face
Believed perforce. Amid the virgin choir
She stood, men said, Virginity itself:
They thanked her less for all of good she taught them
Than all her presence slew. The shames of life
Vanished, and memory's book laughed out in light:
Lethè ran o'er it. Paula wept at times;
Her child shone out as from the weeping cloud
The all-radiant arch. In her the Virtues Three
Began with Hope—for what is Hope but Faith
Mounted on wings?—passed on to Charity,
And ended in some grace to man unknown.
A child she wrote me letters, sportive, brief,
Yet serious 'neath her sport. Childhood in her
Lived till her mother died.
179
Believed perforce. Amid the virgin choir
She stood, men said, Virginity itself:
They thanked her less for all of good she taught them
Than all her presence slew. The shames of life
Vanished, and memory's book laughed out in light:
Lethè ran o'er it. Paula wept at times;
Her child shone out as from the weeping cloud
The all-radiant arch. In her the Virtues Three
Began with Hope—for what is Hope but Faith
Mounted on wings?—passed on to Charity,
And ended in some grace to man unknown.
A child she wrote me letters, sportive, brief,
Yet serious 'neath her sport. Childhood in her
Lived till her mother died.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |