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109
TO THE GREATER WOMAN.
O greater woman with the great sweet hands,
Queen of all flowers and loves in all sweet lands,
When lonely, in weird pain, my spirit stands,
O great love, hear me!
Queen of all flowers and loves in all sweet lands,
When lonely, in weird pain, my spirit stands,
O great love, hear me!
When loves of earth are feeble and forsake,
Thou Woman-God, my worn-out spirit take,
Renew, deliver; soften and re-make;
Great God, be near me!
Thou Woman-God, my worn-out spirit take,
Renew, deliver; soften and re-make;
Great God, be near me!
115
Heal me with wonder of thine awful kiss:
If earth's friends fail, and ever earthly bliss
Declines, O God thy beauty—leave me this!
Thy breath to cheer me!
If earth's friends fail, and ever earthly bliss
Declines, O God thy beauty—leave me this!
Thy breath to cheer me!
O queenlier woman with the loving breast
So white, so tender, soothe me, give me rest;
If all are frail, in thee my soul is blest;
O white love, save me!
So white, so tender, soothe me, give me rest;
If all are frail, in thee my soul is blest;
O white love, save me!
O whiter woman with the rose-sweet hair
Than all the abundant tresses yet more fair
Which the dear brows of earthly women wear,
Lift from the grave me!
Than all the abundant tresses yet more fair
Which the dear brows of earthly women wear,
Lift from the grave me!
I mix my heart with thine: with awful cry
I turn me theeward from the loves that lie;
I trust thee, seek thee, praise thee as I die,
For thou shalt save me!
I turn me theeward from the loves that lie;
I trust thee, seek thee, praise thee as I die,
For thou shalt save me!
116
Are they flower-soft? then art thou softer yet
And tenderer: on thy brow more high calm set;
Oh, let my face by thy swift face be met,
O woman, hold me!
And tenderer: on thy brow more high calm set;
Oh, let my face by thy swift face be met,
O woman, hold me!
In arms that never open to let fall,
In breast wherethrough no withering serpents crawl,
In hands that close in like a sweet safe wall,
O sweet God, fold me!
In breast wherethrough no withering serpents crawl,
In hands that close in like a sweet safe wall,
O sweet God, fold me!
O greater heavenlier woman than all these,
With breath more tender than the tenderest breeze
That shakes in Italy the moonlit trees,
To thy will mould me!
With breath more tender than the tenderest breeze
That shakes in Italy the moonlit trees,
To thy will mould me!
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