 | Lays of France |  |
Now she would weary out the days,
Joylessly looking on the white
Slim wonder that she was, whose praise
Henceforth must be omitted quite
Out of men's praising mouths; whose sight
Should ne'er strike sudden with amaze
One other heart fain to have crost
That solitude, where she must be
Evermore as a flower lost
Or nameless unto men. To see
The wild white lilies, passionless
And lonely, wasted in the rank
Green shadowy shallows of the bank,
Was to see many a loveliness—
No more rejected and left out,
As a thing none cared to possess
Of love and time—than, past all doubt,
Her joyless form and face were now
Till death. Was the world whole without
One need of her, one thought of how
Love prospered making her—one look
At the short perfect miracle
His passionate hands wrought when they took
The rare sweet elements, the fine
And delicate fires, and wove the spell
Of her rich being? Did days yet shine,
And men love boundlessly and well
In the fair world, beyond that cell
Of grey thoughts shutting out the sun
Her life seemed brought to? yea, since none
Set living heart upon her more,
And all she was and all she bore,
Of rare and wonderful lay known
To the worms only left alone
With faded secrets in the core
Of dead men's hearts?
Joylessly looking on the white
99
Henceforth must be omitted quite
Out of men's praising mouths; whose sight
Should ne'er strike sudden with amaze
One other heart fain to have crost
That solitude, where she must be
Evermore as a flower lost
Or nameless unto men. To see
The wild white lilies, passionless
And lonely, wasted in the rank
Green shadowy shallows of the bank,
Was to see many a loveliness—
No more rejected and left out,
As a thing none cared to possess
Of love and time—than, past all doubt,
Her joyless form and face were now
Till death. Was the world whole without
One need of her, one thought of how
Love prospered making her—one look
At the short perfect miracle
His passionate hands wrought when they took
The rare sweet elements, the fine
And delicate fires, and wove the spell
100
And men love boundlessly and well
In the fair world, beyond that cell
Of grey thoughts shutting out the sun
Her life seemed brought to? yea, since none
Set living heart upon her more,
And all she was and all she bore,
Of rare and wonderful lay known
To the worms only left alone
With faded secrets in the core
Of dead men's hearts?
| Lays of France | |