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83
STANZAS,
SUGGESTED BY A BEAUTIFUL COPY OF THE MADONNA AND CHILD, PRESENTED TO ME BY MY FRIEND MARY FRANCES FITZGERALD.
I may not change the simple faith,
In which from childhood I was bred;
Nor could I, without scorn, or scathe,
The living seek among the dead;
My soul has far too deeply fed
On what no painting can express,
To bend the knee, or bow the head,
To aught of pictured loveliness.
In which from childhood I was bred;
Nor could I, without scorn, or scathe,
The living seek among the dead;
My soul has far too deeply fed
On what no painting can express,
To bend the knee, or bow the head,
To aught of pictured loveliness.
And yet, Madonna! when I gaze
On charms unearthly, such as thine;
Or glances yet more reverent raise
Unto that infant, so Divine!
I marvel not that many a shrine
Hath been, and still is reared to thee,
Where mingled feelings might combine
To bow the head and bend the knee.
On charms unearthly, such as thine;
Or glances yet more reverent raise
Unto that infant, so Divine!
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Hath been, and still is reared to thee,
Where mingled feelings might combine
To bow the head and bend the knee.
For who—that is of woman born,
And hath that birthright understood,
Mindful of being's early morn,
Can e'er behold with thoughtless mood,
Most pure and perfect womanhood?
Woman—by angel once addressed;
And by the wise, the great, the good
Of every age accounted blessed!
And hath that birthright understood,
Mindful of being's early morn,
Can e'er behold with thoughtless mood,
Most pure and perfect womanhood?
Woman—by angel once addressed;
And by the wise, the great, the good
Of every age accounted blessed!
Or who that feels the spell—which Heaven
Casts round us in our infancy,
But, more or less, hath homage given
To childhood—half unconscious why?
A yet more touching mystery
Is in that feeling comprehended,
When thus is brought before the eye,
Godhead with childhood strangely blended
Casts round us in our infancy,
But, more or less, hath homage given
To childhood—half unconscious why?
A yet more touching mystery
Is in that feeling comprehended,
When thus is brought before the eye,
Godhead with childhood strangely blended
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And hence I marvel not at all,
That spirits, needing outward aid,
Should feel and own the magic thrall
In your meek loveliness displayed:
And if the objects thus portrayed
Brought comfort, hope, or joy to them,
Their error, let who will upbraid,
I rather pity—than condemn.
That spirits, needing outward aid,
Should feel and own the magic thrall
In your meek loveliness displayed:
And if the objects thus portrayed
Brought comfort, hope, or joy to them,
Their error, let who will upbraid,
I rather pity—than condemn.
For me, though not by hands of mine
May shrine or altar be upreared;
In you, the human and Divine
Have both so beautiful appeared,
That each, in turn, hath been endeared,
As in you feeling has explored
Woman—with holier love revered,
And God—more gratefully adored.
May shrine or altar be upreared;
In you, the human and Divine
Have both so beautiful appeared,
That each, in turn, hath been endeared,
As in you feeling has explored
Woman—with holier love revered,
And God—more gratefully adored.
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