 | Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson |  |
19
THIS IS MY BELOVED
Son of the womb of her,Loved till doom of her,
Thought of the brain of her,
Heart of her side,
She joyed and grieved in him,
Hoped, believed in him:
God grew fain of her,
And she died.
Died, and horribly
Saw the mystery,
Saw the grime of it—
That hid soul;
Saw the slime of it,
Saw it whole.
O mother, mother, for all the sweet John saith,
O mother, was not this the Second Death?
| Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson | |