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MATER DOLOROSA |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
169
MATER DOLOROSA
The nuns sing, “Ora pro nobis;”
The casements glitter above;
And the beautiful Virgin, whose robe is
Woven of infinite love,
Infinite love and sorrow,
Prays for them there on high—
Who has most need of her prayers,—to-morrow
Shall tell them!—they or I?
The casements glitter above;
And the beautiful Virgin, whose robe is
Woven of infinite love,
Infinite love and sorrow,
Prays for them there on high—
Who has most need of her prayers,—to-morrow
Shall tell them!—they or I?
Up in the hills together
We loved, where the world was true;
Our world of the whin and heather,
Our skies of a nearer blue;
A blue from which one borrows
A faith that helps one die—
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrows,
None needs such more than I!
We loved, where the world was true;
Our world of the whin and heather,
Our skies of a nearer blue;
A blue from which one borrows
A faith that helps one die—
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrows,
None needs such more than I!
We lived, we loved unwedded—
Love's sin and its shame that slays!—
No ill of the years we dreaded,
No day of their coming days;
Their coming days, their many
Trials by noon and night—
And I know no land, not any
Where the sun shines half so bright.
Love's sin and its shame that slays!—
170
No day of their coming days;
Their coming days, their many
Trials by noon and night—
And I know no land, not any
Where the sun shines half so bright.
Was he false to me, my Mother!
Or I to him, my God!—
Who gave thee right, O brother!
To take God's right and rod!
God's rod of avenging morrows—
And the life here in my side!—
O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
Would that I, too, had died!
Or I to him, my God!—
Who gave thee right, O brother!
To take God's right and rod!
God's rod of avenging morrows—
And the life here in my side!—
O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
Would that I, too, had died!
By the wall of the Chantry kneeling
I pray, and the organ rings,
“Gloria! gloria!” pealing,
“Sancta Maria!” sings.
They will find us dead to-morrow
By the wall of their nunnery—
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrow,
His unborn babe and me.
I pray, and the organ rings,
“Gloria! gloria!” pealing,
“Sancta Maria!” sings.
They will find us dead to-morrow
By the wall of their nunnery—
O Mother, thou Mother of Sorrow,
His unborn babe and me.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |