Marie Borroff
Better to cross yourself, and bless
The name of the Lord, whatever he send;
No good can come of your willfulness;
Who bears bad luck must learn to bend.
Thou like a stricken doe, my friend,
You plunge and bray, with loud lament,
This way and that, yet in the end
As he decrees, you must consent.
As water flows from a fountainhead
I cast myself in his mercy clear
Then sorrow broke from my burning breast;
"O honored Pearl," I said, "how dear
Was your every word and wise behest
If you in a garland never sere
Are set by that Prince all-provident,
Then happy am I in dungeon drear
That he with you is well content."
The more I mused on that fair face,
The person of that most precious one,
Such gladness grew in my heart by grace
As little before had been, or none.
I longed to call across that space
But found my powers of speech had flown;
To meet her in so strange a place--
Such a sight, in truth, might shock or stun!
Then raised she up her brow, that shone
All ivory pale on that far shore,
That stabbed my heart to look upon
And ever the longer, more and more.
More dread diminished my delight;
I stood stock-still and dared not call.
With eyes wide open and mouth shut tight
I hoved there tame as a hawk in hall.
Unearthly, I knew, must be that plight;
I dreaded much what might befall,
Lest she I viewed should vanish quite
And leave me there to stare and stall.
That slender one, so smooth, so small,
Unblemished, void of every vice,
Rose up in robes imperial,
A precious pearl in pearls of price.
His gifts gush forth like a spring in spate
Or a stream in a gulley that runs in rains,
As in his flock no fleck is seen,
His hallowed halls are wholly bright,
I had
The transport of the aim.
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