 | An Actor's Reminiscences and Other Poems |  |
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TWO SONNETS.
I. CHRIST AND LOVE'S ROSE-CROWN.
Yea, Christ has many crowns; he has not this.—
The sweet unsearchable divinely pure
Scent of the rose of passion that can cure
All ills, and turn all woes to perfect bliss.
He has the Father's,—not the bridal kiss
Of God. Love kissed him on his forehead high:
But my lips met Love's lips and did not die:
Marvellous is the thought; deep peace it is.
The sweet unsearchable divinely pure
Scent of the rose of passion that can cure
All ills, and turn all woes to perfect bliss.
He has the Father's,—not the bridal kiss
Of God. Love kissed him on his forehead high:
But my lips met Love's lips and did not die:
Marvellous is the thought; deep peace it is.
Deep peace, surpassing rapture, perfect joy:—
O wondrous lips of Love that like a Rose
Swept o'er my mouth, my whole deep being glows
Yet with that memory no death can destroy!
Once was I, while alive on earth I trod,
Kissed by the red rose of the mouth of God.
O wondrous lips of Love that like a Rose
Swept o'er my mouth, my whole deep being glows
Yet with that memory no death can destroy!
Once was I, while alive on earth I trod,
Kissed by the red rose of the mouth of God.
1877.
226
II. “BECAUSE I DO NOT FEAR.”
Because I do not fear thee, thou art tender.—
Just as a woman, suddenly, bestows
In amplest, purest, and most sweet surrender
On the strong lover all her beauty's rose,
But, ever, from the weak of heart she goes,—
Just as her white arms round her lover cling,
If only with the lordlier voice he sing,
Not heeding overmuch the glance she throws:—
Just as a woman, suddenly, bestows
In amplest, purest, and most sweet surrender
On the strong lover all her beauty's rose,
But, ever, from the weak of heart she goes,—
Just as her white arms round her lover cling,
If only with the lordlier voice he sing,
Not heeding overmuch the glance she throws:—
So, as thou fliest from me and glancest back,
O great Lord God, not swiftly on the track
I follow,—knowing that were but to lose!
I give thee time. Then thou shalt turn and fling
Thy white arms, suddenly, around,—and cling,—
While blushes all thy vanquished face suffuse.
O great Lord God, not swiftly on the track
I follow,—knowing that were but to lose!
I give thee time. Then thou shalt turn and fling
Thy white arms, suddenly, around,—and cling,—
While blushes all thy vanquished face suffuse.
1877.
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