 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Yet in them lurked a glance arcane, not all
Of solace, thát befits the divine state:
(Immortals, may not sigh, for mortals dead,
Though they be sad;) of Virgin Mothers grief.
Methought I, ón Her habit, newly-shed,
Had drops seen pearling, for Her Islands slain;
Ín the Great War, which no more may return.
Of solace, thát befits the divine state:
(Immortals, may not sigh, for mortals dead,
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Methought I, ón Her habit, newly-shed,
Had drops seen pearling, for Her Islands slain;
Ín the Great War, which no more may return.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |