« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Fashioned her tenderly,
Giving all weal to her ;Girdle ye slenderly,
Go to her, kneel to her,
“Saying, 'He sendeth us,
He the most dutiful, Meetly he endeth us,
Maiden most beautiful ! Let us get rest of you,
Sweet, in your breast ;Die, being prest of you,
Die, being blest.””
A SONG OF ANGIOLA IN HEAVEN.
Lulled by the rhythmic dancing beat
Betwixt the daylight and the dew,
Tells to the Rose.
For lo,-a garden-place I found,
Well flowered, with red fruit marvellous ;
With faces bent and amorous ;-
My Love I found.
Alone she walked,-ah, well I wis,
Then when I called to her her name,The name, that like a pleasant thing Men's lips remember, murmuring,
At once across the sward she came,Full fain she seemed, my own dear maid, And asked ever as she came,
“Where hast thou stayed ?”
“Where hast thou stayed?”—she asked as though The long years were an hour ago;
But I spake not, nor answered,
And in her clear cheek's changeless red,
And Time was bound.
“This is well done,”—she said, -"in thee, O Love, that thou art come to me,
To this green garden glorious ; Now truly shall our life be sped In joyance and all goodlihed,
For here all things are fair to us, And none with burden is oppressed, And none is poor or piteous,
For here is Rest.
“No formless Future blurs the sky;
By shrouded shapes of Yesterday ;
In one unwearying To-Day,
And here is Heaven."
At “Heaven” she ceased ;-and lifted up
With rounded mouth, and eyes aglow;
And past things change to painted show ;
I swooned,-and woke.
Well am I comforted;
That, without dim distress
My Lady, verily, awaiteth me;
For my dear Lady's sake
I am right fain to make
Knowing that I, at last, shall stand
In that green garden-land, And, in the holding of my dear Love's hand,
Forget the grieving and the misery.