Mystic Trees by Michael Field [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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 | Mystic Trees |  |
17
NUBES LUCIDA
I
O fair, fair beauty of Thy Son!Vesture, a white and golden one!
O hair straight down, that lays
In such soft ways
About the brow!
Father, wilt Thou allow
This Thy Desire, the Doting of Thine eyes,
To die—in sacrifice?
II
Father, the rose of that fair rose,The tender flower—wilt Thou not close
Phalanx of seraphim
Protecting Him
Against the will
Of these who wait to kill?
At the hill-base a troop of curs and knaves
Is come with staves.
III
Father, there breaks from Thee one sigh—As women with reft hands put by
Some precious jewel-thing,
Relinquishing:
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Sad, on some mountain-stone,
And gazeth down into the mountain's base,
As into a well's face.
IV
O Cloud, that dost so wrathful bend;O lovely Flower for us to rend;
O victim most complete
Laid at our feet;
We lift the knife,
Sever the tender life,
And the great Cloud rolls back again content
Into the firmament!
| Mystic Trees | |