Sonnets | ||
108
III.
All ye who lightly hold the high bequest,
The crown immortal by great Love alone,
And oftenest to his martyred ones foreshown,
How is it with you when some tenderer breast,
Long time of fledgling love the chosen nest,
Has had to mourn its brooding care outgrown?
How then with ravished nest, and nestling flown,
How has the mother-heart in you found rest?
The crown immortal by great Love alone,
And oftenest to his martyred ones foreshown,
How is it with you when some tenderer breast,
Long time of fledgling love the chosen nest,
Has had to mourn its brooding care outgrown?
How then with ravished nest, and nestling flown,
How has the mother-heart in you found rest?
Nay, it not rests, but dies in such a case;
The woman-soul that nourishes a seed,
Charged with the hope supernal of the race,
Fades as it fades, sustained by no low greed;
Fades, falls, and, trampled out by grosser need,
Lives not to consummate its own disgrace.
The woman-soul that nourishes a seed,
Charged with the hope supernal of the race,
Fades as it fades, sustained by no low greed;
Fades, falls, and, trampled out by grosser need,
Lives not to consummate its own disgrace.
Sonnets | ||