 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
86
MARY THE VIRGIN.
Hail, Mary! blessed among women, hail!How should I pass thee by, most favoured one,
As thus I greet thee in this vision'd vale
Far other than on earth, when sad and pale
Beneath the bitter cross of that dear Son
Thy woman's heart did faint; I note thee now
Walking in praise, and on thy modest brow
The coronet that tells of glory won:
O blest art thou, but not yet full thy bliss,
Albeit where erst a sword piercéd thy heart
Celestial joys in thrilling raptures dart;
For He, the tender firstling of thy love,
The precious child thy virgin lips did kiss,
Hath still to take his triumph from above.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |