 | My Lyrical Life |  |
154
I.
Twice the Mother had divèd down
Into her sea of sorrow;
O my love! O my life! my own sweet Wife!
God send you a merry good-morrow.
Betide her weal, or betide her woe,
Her smile it was calm and fearless;
And proud were her eyes as she rose with the prize,
A pearl in her palms! my Peerless!
Into her sea of sorrow;
O my love! O my life! my own sweet Wife!
God send you a merry good-morrow.
Betide her weal, or betide her woe,
Her smile it was calm and fearless;
And proud were her eyes as she rose with the prize,
A pearl in her palms! my Peerless!
O found you a little Sea-Syren,
In some perilous palace left?
Or is it a little Child-Angel,
Of her high-born kin bereft?
Or came she out of the Elfin-land,
By earthly love beguiled?
Or hath the sweet Spirit of Beauty
Taken shape as our starry Child?
In some perilous palace left?
Or is it a little Child-Angel,
Of her high-born kin bereft?
Or came she out of the Elfin-land,
By earthly love beguiled?
Or hath the sweet Spirit of Beauty
Taken shape as our starry Child?
Dear, do but look in her love-nest of sweets,
Where she lies in a smiling calm:
Wee armful of fruitage; a sheaf of ripe bliss;
On a bosom breathing balm.
Pure as the drop of dew, pride of the morn,
On leaves of a lily in blossom;
Fresh as the fragrance newly born
In a violet's virgin bosom!
Where she lies in a smiling calm:
Wee armful of fruitage; a sheaf of ripe bliss;
On a bosom breathing balm.
Pure as the drop of dew, pride of the morn,
On leaves of a lily in blossom;
Fresh as the fragrance newly born
In a violet's virgin bosom!
| My Lyrical Life | |