Love Among the Saints
Close their ranks by groom and bride;
Straight their faces, clear and pure;
Pale in stain, pale and plain,
Fall their ample robes demure.
Grave, these goodly friends beside,
Stands the bride,
Shorn of every earthly lure.
But, when I was there to look,
Not Saint Agnes nor Saint Clare
(Tall and faint, like a saint)
But a naked captive there
Fast my wandering fancy took;
Still I look,
Vainly, for that face and hair.
For, amid the saintly light,
From the faded fresco starts,
Fair and pale, thin and frail,
Round his neck a chain of hearts,
Love himself in mazed affright,
Out of sight
Of his altar and his darts.
Starved and naked, wan and thin,
Beautiful in his distress,
Crouches Love, whom above
All the saints in glory bless.
Here he may not enter in,
Cold and thin.
Naked, with no wedding-dress.
From the altar and the shrine
One turns round in frowning grace,
Bids the wild, naked child.
Swiftly leave the holy place.
Not for thee the bread and wine
On the shrine.
Starving god of alien race!
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