 | English Roses |  |
BRIDE OF DEATH.
Tall and fair
As the Bride of Death
She stood in the stony-hearted street,
Though the wind was rough with her golden hair
And the pavement rude to her tender feet,
With a sob that caught at her troubled breath;
Late and lone,
With her virgin zone—
She had only left that one dear jewel,
Like the light of Heaven around her shed,
If the world was hard and her hunger cruel;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
As the Bride of Death
She stood in the stony-hearted street,
Though the wind was rough with her golden hair
And the pavement rude to her tender feet,
With a sob that caught at her troubled breath;
Late and lone,
With her virgin zone—
She had only left that one dear jewel,
Like the light of Heaven around her shed,
If the world was hard and her hunger cruel;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
Pure as gold,
Though her fate was such,
She fought with the lion in his lair
And the mocking kindness grim and cold;
But alas! for the crime that she was fair,
With her conquering grace's final touch!
Frail and white
With an infinite
Force that sprang from a splendid nature
And illumed her eyes and crowned her head,
She arose to a height of godlike stature—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
Though her fate was such,
She fought with the lion in his lair
And the mocking kindness grim and cold;
But alas! for the crime that she was fair,
With her conquering grace's final touch!
Frail and white
With an infinite
Force that sprang from a splendid nature
And illumed her eyes and crowned her head,
She arose to a height of godlike stature—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
Free and fair,
She was robbed of all
But her honour with its breastplate thin,
And the ruined hopes were beyond repair
When salvation seemed the price of sin;
Yet a boundless world would lightlier fall;
Calm and strong
With the secret song
Which is life to the heart which finds no pity,
She turned to the refuge for her spread
From the tempting bait and the callous City;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
She was robbed of all
But her honour with its breastplate thin,
558
When salvation seemed the price of sin;
Yet a boundless world would lightlier fall;
Calm and strong
With the secret song
Which is life to the heart which finds no pity,
She turned to the refuge for her spread
From the tempting bait and the callous City;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
Sweet and sad,
In her maiden might
With its liberty of the sea and air
And the glory wherein her spell was clad,
She rejoiced that her God had made her fair
And her gifts could return to Him as bright;
Robed in pride
As a spotless Bride,
She stept from the love that barred its portal
To the bridegroom's chamber amongst the dead,
In the light of a majesty immortal;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
In her maiden might
With its liberty of the sea and air
And the glory wherein her spell was clad,
She rejoiced that her God had made her fair
And her gifts could return to Him as bright;
Robed in pride
As a spotless Bride,
She stept from the love that barred its portal
To the bridegroom's chamber amongst the dead,
In the light of a majesty immortal;—
Should she give of her beauty now for bread?
| English Roses | |