An English Madonna By James Hinton [i.e. George Barlow] |
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| II. |
| IV. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| X. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XVI. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXXVIII. |
XXXVIII.
“MADLY TENDER, MADLY PASSIONATE, RECKLESSLY DYING.”
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| XLIV. |
| LIV. |
| LXI. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII.. |
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
 | An English Madonna |  |
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XXXVIII. “MADLY TENDER, MADLY PASSIONATE, RECKLESSLY DYING.”
Yes, “mad”. And is not love that loves so much
As to be “mad” with love the sweetest thing
That ever nestled 'neath the song-god's wing
Or sprang to beauty at the time-god's touch?
Is not the love of every poet such?
Were he not mad, would he have heart to sing?
The wildest songs the mad love-poets bring
Are just the songs which smile at death's cold clutch.
As to be “mad” with love the sweetest thing
That ever nestled 'neath the song-god's wing
Or sprang to beauty at the time-god's touch?
Is not the love of every poet such?
Were he not mad, would he have heart to sing?
The wildest songs the mad love-poets bring
Are just the songs which smile at death's cold clutch.
The love that counts the thorns upon the road
Is not love. This is love—though all the wide
Fierce universe were on the other side
Condemning, yet to know that God's heart glowed
When, first, love's passionate eyes thy dark eyes met;
That, when sweet love wept, God's own eyes were wet.
Is not love. This is love—though all the wide
Fierce universe were on the other side
Condemning, yet to know that God's heart glowed
When, first, love's passionate eyes thy dark eyes met;
That, when sweet love wept, God's own eyes were wet.
| An English Madonna | |