II

I see You with the face they paint
For some saint
Born and saved in some sublime
Olden time,
Crowned with the gorgeous golden-waved
Aureole;
Just such a saint as should have saved
My own soul.

Yes; for you have the human grace
In your face
Painted upon the panel there,
And what hair!
‘Fra’--who was he? I forget--
Who could paint
Such a woman wholly, and yet
Such a saint?

From the dim cathedral height
Falls the light;
I could think it for a while
Christ’s smile
From the great window-scene above
Strangely shed
Toward you, resting like Christ’s love
On your head.

O the splendid purple niche
Deep and rich,
Stained of the colour of your soul
Strong and whole,
Full of the prevalence of prayers
And piteous plaint
You made for men and sins all theirs
--You a saint!

The niche a little narrow: well,
As the cell
Your world, your body--all things seen--
Must have been
About the soul that day by day
Groped and felt
To God’s own house and found the way
As you knelt:

In an attitude of prayer
O how fair!
All the body crouched, constrained
As if pained
With the spirit’s inward groan
To entreat
For a sin you could not own,
O how sweet!

Hands God making must have praised;
Clasped and raised
Holy mediæval way
Used to pray;
Sky all wrapped about your head
Blue and sweet,
Earth all golden from the tread
Of your feet.

God, who of all this world of ours
Gathers flowers,
Gathered you in the old sublime
Flower time:
If God had left some flowers like you--
Who can tell?--
He might have had yet one or two
Flowers that fell.

O then there were great sins of course;
Men were worse
Some ways no doubt; at any rate
Men were great:
We cannot bear their mail, much less
Lose or win
Their heavens, through their great holiness
Or great sin.

There were high things for men to see,
Do, or be;
Fair struggles after every throne:
And to atone
Fair crowns and kingdoms for the best;
All men strove,
And, loss or gain, for each man’s rest
There was love.

And men and women bore their part
Heart to heart,
For oh! the women and the men
Loved then;
And love from love you could not break,
Half to save;
If one sinned, for the other’s sake
God forgave.

Would thou wert yet, thou great and old
Time of gold!
Wert thou with me, or could I flee
Back to thee,
God might have had one other flower
Nigh to fall,
And I known love at least one hour
--Once for all.

O who shall have the barren years?
Who the tears?
One with false bosom and cold kiss
May have this:
But somewhere, unless love forget
His old way,
There shall be something better yet
--Ay, some day.