SONNETS.
95
SAINT ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA.
"Would that we two were lying
Beneath the churchyard sod,
With our limbs at rest in the green earth's breast,
And our souls at home with God."
Kingsley's Saint's Tragedy.
Beneath the churchyard sod,
With our limbs at rest in the green earth's breast,
And our souls at home with God."
Kingsley's Saint's Tragedy.
I.
NEVER lay me down to sleep at night But in my heart I sing that little song:
The angels hear it as, a pitying throng,
They touch my burning lids with fingers bright
As moonbeams, pale, impalpable, and light:
And when my daily pious tasks are done,
And all my patient prayers said one by one,
God hears it. Seems it sinful in His sight
That round my slow burnt-offering of quenched will
One quivering human sigh creeps wind-like still?
That when my orisons celestial fail
Rises one note of natural human wail?
Dear lord, spouse, hero, martyr, saint! erelong,
I trust, God will forgive my singing that poor song.
