 | War poems with some others |  |
24
Legend
No sandal round the cloisters crept,
The solemn precinct slept,
Since midnight's curtained silence fell
Until the matins bell.
A single vigilant in prayer
Knelt at an altar-stair.
His eyes' young blue, his hair's long gold,
Were goodly to behold,
Although the lamp that lighted him
Burned tremulous and dim.
He said, ‘I lay my birth right down
To sceptre and to crown.
The pride of race, the pomp of state,
To God I consecrate.
I have no need for helm or sword
Whom no man shall call lord;
The golden spurs are no more meet
To deck my unmailed feet,
Who barefoot choose as greater gain
To tread my path in pain.’
The solemn precinct slept,
Since midnight's curtained silence fell
Until the matins bell.
A single vigilant in prayer
Knelt at an altar-stair.
His eyes' young blue, his hair's long gold,
Were goodly to behold,
Although the lamp that lighted him
Burned tremulous and dim.
He said, ‘I lay my birth right down
To sceptre and to crown.
The pride of race, the pomp of state,
To God I consecrate.
I have no need for helm or sword
Whom no man shall call lord;
The golden spurs are no more meet
To deck my unmailed feet,
25
To tread my path in pain.’
Her statue carved in painted wood
Stirred where the Virgin stood,
And in the shadowy niche her face
Assumed a living grace.
The seven swords that pierce her soul
Gleamed, and her aureole.
The hands unclasped and waxen white
Reached out across the night,
And on his head she bending down
Laid her own red-rose crown.
‘Nay, Blessed Guardian of my vow,
No roses decked the brow
Of him who had no place,’ he said,
‘In which to lay his head.
Give me some other sign, I pray,
To bear upon my way.
No blooms of earth or paradise
Crowned love's great sacrifice:
I would renounce, could that but be,
As wholly as did He.’
Stirred where the Virgin stood,
And in the shadowy niche her face
Assumed a living grace.
The seven swords that pierce her soul
Gleamed, and her aureole.
The hands unclasped and waxen white
Reached out across the night,
And on his head she bending down
Laid her own red-rose crown.
‘Nay, Blessed Guardian of my vow,
No roses decked the brow
Of him who had no place,’ he said,
‘In which to lay his head.
Give me some other sign, I pray,
To bear upon my way.
No blooms of earth or paradise
Crowned love's great sacrifice:
I would renounce, could that but be,
As wholly as did He.’
Then as in answer to the prayer
From his long golden hair
On the cold stone which paved the cell
The crimson petals fell,
While through the flesh a piercing smart
Pulsed to his beating heart;
And redder than that rosy rain
One print of deeper stain
Bore witness that his brows had borne
A diadem of thorn.
From his long golden hair
On the cold stone which paved the cell
The crimson petals fell,
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Pulsed to his beating heart;
And redder than that rosy rain
One print of deeper stain
Bore witness that his brows had borne
A diadem of thorn.
| War poems with some others | |