THE ORIEL WINDOW
She kneels in a nook by the dusty choir,
With aspect lost and lornful;
My breast is gored with spears of fire
To see her looking so mournful—
Ah, ’tis not meet that one so sweet
Should ever be moody and mournful.
She tells, I wist, the beads on her wrist,
With a gentle, lyrical motion;
And she seems in a mist when the Eucharist
Is soared for the people’s devotion;
While a glittering crown for the head bowed down
Is the meed of her dear devotion.
Have you come in the guise of Paradise
Our heart-troth to dissever?
In tears, for the lonesome, bitter years,
Would you woo me back forever?
Oh, speak, love, speak what your sad eyes seek,
And win me back forever!
Both overthrown, we both have known
How the chains of mortality clank ill—
But tonight, tonight a vow we’ll plight,
To make our wild hearts tranquil;
While the flambeaux shine over thine and mine
Untroubled, untortured and tranquil.
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