 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
BROKEN WINGS.
Ah, they were once superbly bright,
Pluméd with silver and gold,
Graces that could not be told,
Scattering from them flakes of light
Far, as they flashed with heavenly flight,
Stars in a midnight cold;
Once they were sweetly bold,
Soaring in might
Upward to height
Hard for the pilgrim old,
Craving a glimpse of some better sight,
Blossoms above the mould.
Pluméd with silver and gold,
Graces that could not be told,
Scattering from them flakes of light
Far, as they flashed with heavenly flight,
Stars in a midnight cold;
Once they were sweetly bold,
Soaring in might
Upward to height
Hard for the pilgrim old,
Craving a glimpse of some better sight,
Blossoms above the mould.
91
Now they are caged in dungeon dark,
Huddled with hateful things,
Torn from celestial springs,
Never to hear the morning lark,
Never to see a quickening spark—
Wealth that the summer brings;
Now not a captive sings
Sorrows, that mark
Pathway and park—
Shade that to palace clings;
Look at them fluttering near no ark,
Birdies with broken wings.
Huddled with hateful things,
Torn from celestial springs,
Never to hear the morning lark,
Never to see a quickening spark—
Wealth that the summer brings;
Now not a captive sings
Sorrows, that mark
Pathway and park—
Shade that to palace clings;
Look at them fluttering near no ark,
Birdies with broken wings.
Once they were maidens white and fair,
Maidens of modest looks—
Features like gospel books,
Drinking a loftier, larger air,
Steadfast as on a temple stair,
Breathing of flowers and brooks;
Once in the loveliest nooks,
Melody's lair,
Roses their hair
Decked, while the sleepy rooks
Echoed the rest that would all repair—
Toil of the reaping-hooks
Maidens of modest looks—
Features like gospel books,
Drinking a loftier, larger air,
Steadfast as on a temple stair,
Breathing of flowers and brooks;
Once in the loveliest nooks,
Melody's lair,
Roses their hair
Decked, while the sleepy rooks
Echoed the rest that would all repair—
Toil of the reaping-hooks
Now they are women spoiled and spent,
Fools of the tempter's arts,
Hawked upon streets and marts,
Borne to their doom, as others went,
Pale with the rags and bosoms rent,
Playing their damnèd parts;
Now the hot teardrop starts
Vain, in descent
Paved with intent
Virtuous, leaving smarts;
Oh for the bonds that are all unbent,
Women of broken hearts.
Fools of the tempter's arts,
Hawked upon streets and marts,
Borne to their doom, as others went,
Pale with the rags and bosoms rent,
Playing their damnèd parts;
Now the hot teardrop starts
Vain, in descent
Paved with intent
Virtuous, leaving smarts;
Oh for the bonds that are all unbent,
Women of broken hearts.
Once they were angels, fresh from God,
Moving with magic tread,
Weaving a golden thread
Deeply in web of life, as they trod,
Wreathing it round the judgment rod,
Round the grey tombstone's nead;
Once were in blessing spread,
Over bare clod,
Burial sod,
Hands that transformed to bread
Stones of the curse, where labourers plod,
Hands that awoke the dead.
Moving with magic tread,
Weaving a golden thread
Deeply in web of life, as they trod,
Wreathing it round the judgment rod,
Round the grey tombstone's nead;
Once were in blessing spread,
Over bare clod,
Burial sod,
Hands that transformed to bread
Stones of the curse, where labourers plod,
Hands that awoke the dead.
92
Now they are fallen, angels still,
Angels that cannot fly,
Cannot the errands ply
Meant for a world deformed with ill,
Following its own fatal will,
Dark with its duties wry;
Now would they vainly try,
Grinding at mill
Mighty to kill
Body and soul, to buy
Back the bright places they should fill,
Angels, but not from the sky.
Angels that cannot fly,
Cannot the errands ply
Meant for a world deformed with ill,
Following its own fatal will,
Dark with its duties wry;
Now would they vainly try,
Grinding at mill
Mighty to kill
Body and soul, to buy
Back the bright places they should fill,
Angels, but not from the sky.
Yet shall the birdie burst its cage,
Sever the storms that cling
Heavy above, and fling
Shadows beneath, and dimly wage
Battle with doves that dread their rage,
Droop at their frosty sting;
Yet shall the birdie sing,
Finding a stage
Fitter and age
Youthful again, and bring
Happier news of a holier page—
Birdie with glorious wing.
Sever the storms that cling
Heavy above, and fling
Shadows beneath, and dimly wage
Battle with doves that dread their rage,
Droop at their frosty sting;
Yet shall the birdie sing,
Finding a stage
Fitter and age
Youthful again, and bring
Happier news of a holier page—
Birdie with glorious wing.
Yet shall the maiden rise, and shine
Fair without aid of art,
Fairer in nobler part,
Mingled of all things fond and fine,
Breath of the ocean, poet's line,
Light of the sunbeam's dart;
Ye upon men and mart,
Sweetly shall twine,
Garlands, where pine
Souls, love with lovelier start,
Love that doth make the earth divine,
Maiden with maiden heart.
Fair without aid of art,
Fairer in nobler part,
Mingled of all things fond and fine,
Breath of the ocean, poet's line,
Light of the sunbeam's dart;
Ye upon men and mart,
Sweetly shall twine,
Garlands, where pine
Souls, love with lovelier start,
Love that doth make the earth divine,
Maiden with maiden heart.
Yet shall the angel forth from stone
Stand, at the Master's call,
Comelier still from fall,
Speak, with a softer, wiser tone,
Wonderful words for the lost and lone,
Veiled under worse than pall;
Yet, where the fetters gall
Womanly zone—
Sun never shone—
Breaking the prison wall,
Beautiful, strong, shall stand her throne,
Deep within breasts of all.
Stand, at the Master's call,
Comelier still from fall,
Speak, with a softer, wiser tone,
Wonderful words for the lost and lone,
Veiled under worse than pall;
Yet, where the fetters gall
Womanly zone—
Sun never shone—
Breaking the prison wall,
Beautiful, strong, shall stand her throne,
Deep within breasts of all.
93
Love is the name of woman, made
Subtly of tear and sigh,
Things that are holy and high,—
Wrought of the star light, and the shade
Cast by the pure sharp battle blade
Flashing, when God is nigh;
Love, with its heavenly tie,
Gently shall lade
Outcasts that fade
Low in despair where they lie—
Yet shall exalt, as honour bade—
Love, that can never die.
Subtly of tear and sigh,
Things that are holy and high,—
Wrought of the star light, and the shade
Cast by the pure sharp battle blade
Flashing, when God is nigh;
Love, with its heavenly tie,
Gently shall lade
Outcasts that fade
Low in despair where they lie—
Yet shall exalt, as honour bade—
Love, that can never die.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |