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Mystic Trees

by Michael Field [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper]

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A LITTLE WHILE
  
  
  
  


144

A LITTLE WHILE

BELOVED, MY GLORY IN THEE IS NOT CEASED

Beloved, my glory in thee is not ceased,
Whereas, as thou art waning, forests wane:
Unmoved, as by the victim is the priest,
I pass the world's great altitudes of pain.
But when the stars are gathered for a feast,
Or shadows threaten on a radiant plain,
Or many golden cornfields wave amain,
Oh then, as one from a filled shuttle weaves,
My spirit grieves.

145

SHE IS SINGING TO THEE, DOMINE!

She is singing to Thee, Domine!
Dost hear her now?
She is singing to Thee from a burning throat,
And melancholy as the owl's love-note;
She is singing to Thee from the utmost bough
Of the tree of Golgotha, where it is bare,
And the fruit torn from it that fruited there;
She is singing ... Canst Thou stop the strain,
The homage of such pain?
Domine, stoop down to her again!

146

CAPUT TUUM UT CARMELUS

I watch the arch of her head,
As she turns away from me ...
I would I were with the dead,
Drowned with the dead at sea,
All the waves rocking over me!
As St. Peter turned and fled
From the Lord, because of sin,
I look on that lovely head;
And its majesty doth win
Grief in my heart as for sin.
Oh, what can Death have to do
With a curve that is drawn so fine,
With a curve that is drawn as true
As the mountain's crescent line? ...
Let me be hid where the dust falls fine!

147

[Flowers]

Flowers,
Fall in showers,
Let go, desist—the winter comes!
Fall on the ground,
And spread your lovely strewings round!
Jewels,
Bickering fuels,
Harden your sluices and your gums,
Gem after gem:
For ye shall build Jerusalem!