 | The Last Crusade |  |
35
PATIENCE, A RED CROSS NURSE.
Throbbed in her voice the note of summer seas,
Washing of distant waters;
The liberty of souls that dwelt at ease,
Pride that was humbled, laughter of poppied leas,
Set her apart—the flower of England's daughters.
From solemn charters Puritan, and sires
Who kept alive the faith like temple fires,
She brought the passion of her calm grave beauty;
And, through a veil of virginal desires,
First claimed the call of Duty.
The shyness of that face was surely lit
At ancient altars and thoughts infinite.
Washing of distant waters;
The liberty of souls that dwelt at ease,
Pride that was humbled, laughter of poppied leas,
Set her apart—the flower of England's daughters.
From solemn charters Puritan, and sires
Who kept alive the faith like temple fires,
She brought the passion of her calm grave beauty;
And, through a veil of virginal desires,
First claimed the call of Duty.
The shyness of that face was surely lit
At ancient altars and thoughts infinite.
There is no strength as this of rapt repose,
Fed on immortal diet;
The might of stars, the magic of the rose,
Splendour of dreams which with all heaven unclose,
Met in her gaze and lent its queenly quiet.
Levers past outlooks human, eternal springs
Whereto the world at its foundation clings,
The giant pulsing of deep central sources;
These gave that awful dower, far above kings,
And blent with cosmic forces.
Yet nothing gentler came to joyous birth,
Than those white hands which could have moulded earth.
Fed on immortal diet;
The might of stars, the magic of the rose,
Splendour of dreams which with all heaven unclose,
Met in her gaze and lent its queenly quiet.
Levers past outlooks human, eternal springs
Whereto the world at its foundation clings,
The giant pulsing of deep central sources;
These gave that awful dower, far above kings,
And blent with cosmic forces.
Yet nothing gentler came to joyous birth,
Than those white hands which could have moulded earth.
Head of a cloistered nun, dark hair, dark eyes
Haunted with spirit splendour;
The inward glance of secret other skies,
Communed with larger loves and chivalries
Which long had made the one great free surrender.
Cheeks that had stolen the dawn's delicious charm,
Pale lights, and in the rounding of an arm
Dew-drunken blossom curves and shining shadows;
That early freshness, ere loud strife's alarm,
Imparadising meadows.
The sweet preambles of each morning grace.
Unsoiled, undimmed, made springtide of her face.
Haunted with spirit splendour;
36
Communed with larger loves and chivalries
Which long had made the one great free surrender.
Cheeks that had stolen the dawn's delicious charm,
Pale lights, and in the rounding of an arm
Dew-drunken blossom curves and shining shadows;
That early freshness, ere loud strife's alarm,
Imparadising meadows.
The sweet preambles of each morning grace.
Unsoiled, undimmed, made springtide of her face.
Translucent was its veil, I saw God's lamp
Within for ever burning;
Incense of prayer went up, and set a stamp
Divine on all around, the roar, the tramp
Of thunder-throated streets, with upward yearning.
Spoke from her while unconscious the old spell,
That spacious gift which first on Eden fell
But passed not quite, and haloes life's new story;
Taught by the brook, and on the lily's bell
Rocked unto rest and glory.
I marked how the creation hangs and hung
On the pure breath of vestal maidens young.
Within for ever burning;
Incense of prayer went up, and set a stamp
Divine on all around, the roar, the tramp
Of thunder-throated streets, with upward yearning.
Spoke from her while unconscious the old spell,
That spacious gift which first on Eden fell
But passed not quite, and haloes life's new story;
Taught by the brook, and on the lily's bell
Rocked unto rest and glory.
I marked how the creation hangs and hung
On the pure breath of vestal maidens young.
| The Last Crusade | |