 | Love-Songs |  |
148
TO GERTRUDE ENTERING A CONVENT.
Ah! weak and frail—but yet so sweet, so pure!
Thou art English, rosebud! yet could'st not endure
The strong salt breeze, but must thy soul secure
Within these close-barred flowerless scentless gates.
Thou art English, rosebud! yet could'st not endure
The strong salt breeze, but must thy soul secure
Within these close-barred flowerless scentless gates.
Thou art English: yet the sweet and stalwart breeze
That laughs delighted 'mid our bright oak trees
And sweeps across the emerald lavish leas
Thou could'st not bear; what breeze thy coming waits?
That laughs delighted 'mid our bright oak trees
And sweeps across the emerald lavish leas
Thou could'st not bear; what breeze thy coming waits?
O all shut in apart from suns and stars
Within these bloomless barren spouseless bars,
How black a cowardly crime thy girlhood mars,
Thine English girlhood, spoilt by froward fates!
Within these bloomless barren spouseless bars,
How black a cowardly crime thy girlhood mars,
Thine English girlhood, spoilt by froward fates!
How deep a weak-souled crime thy life begins!
How crowned thy forehead is with others' sins!
Oh, if the eternal Bridegroom thee, sweet, wins,
Thou art not won, if love's pursuit abates!
How crowned thy forehead is with others' sins!
Oh, if the eternal Bridegroom thee, sweet, wins,
Thou art not won, if love's pursuit abates!
Yea, if love's English foot throughout the gloom
Thee follows not, nor cares to seek thy tomb,
Thou art lost—yea, lost, for all the hectic bloom
That heaven upon thy pale cheek reinstates.
Thee follows not, nor cares to seek thy tomb,
Thou art lost—yea, lost, for all the hectic bloom
That heaven upon thy pale cheek reinstates.
156
Thou art lost, abandoned, sold: thy body young
That English true lips might have loved and sung
Is buried deep, deep; round thy neck have clung
Foul serpents of the dusk, like hissing hates.
That English true lips might have loved and sung
Is buried deep, deep; round thy neck have clung
Foul serpents of the dusk, like hissing hates.
O flower, white flower, why wilt thou thus away?
O rose, sweet rose, why will thy footsteps stray?
Lo! night before thee lies, but crimson day
Behind; oh pause ere yet the last bolt grates.
O rose, sweet rose, why will thy footsteps stray?
Lo! night before thee lies, but crimson day
Behind; oh pause ere yet the last bolt grates.
O blossom, blossom, wandering down the track,
Alone, uncherished, wilt thou not turn back?
Thou know'st not yet how dark it is alack!
Within that vault thy purpose meditates.
Alone, uncherished, wilt thou not turn back?
Thou know'st not yet how dark it is alack!
Within that vault thy purpose meditates.
By every English rose of thee a part
Pause maiden, slaughter not thy young fair heart:
Yea, drop from thy white hand the priest-forged dart;
Lo! rose-like love thy being renovates.
Pause maiden, slaughter not thy young fair heart:
Yea, drop from thy white hand the priest-forged dart;
Lo! rose-like love thy being renovates.
By every English woman glad and strong
Hear thou the swift notes of an English song:
Do not thy white soul this unfathomed wrong:
Do England's soul no wrong; heed not these baits.
Hear thou the swift notes of an English song:
Do not thy white soul this unfathomed wrong:
Do England's soul no wrong; heed not these baits.
The great white soul of England calleth thee:
In every white wave of the thundering sea
Its mandate sounds; it sounds again through me;
Pause, ere thine hand thine own soul dissipates.
In every white wave of the thundering sea
Its mandate sounds; it sounds again through me;
Pause, ere thine hand thine own soul dissipates.
Pause, Gertrude; by thine own dear English name
That burns our hearts with longing like a flame
Do not thy soul and England's soul this shame:
Pause, ere thy fall our foemen's craving sates.
That burns our hearts with longing like a flame
Do not thy soul and England's soul this shame:
Pause, ere thy fall our foemen's craving sates.
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