SISTER MAUDE. WHO told my mother of my shame, Oh who but Maude, my sister Maude, Cold he lies, as cold as stone, With his clotted curls about his face : The comeliest corpse in all the world And worthy of a queen's embrace. You might have spared his soul, sister, Have spared my soul, your own soul too: Though I had not been born at all, He'd never have looked at you. My father may sleep in Paradise, My mother at Heaven-gate: But sister Maude shall get no sleep Either early or late. My father may wear a golden gown, If My mother a crown may win; my dear and I knocked at Heaven-gate Perhaps they'd let us in: But sister Maude, oh sister Maude, Bide you with death and sin. REST. SONNET. O EARTH, lie heavily upon her eyes; Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies, Hushed in and curtained with a blessèd dearth Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; With stillness that is almost Paradise. Darkness more clear than noon-day holdeth her, Silence more musical than any song; Even her very heart has ceased to stir: Until the morning of Eternity Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; And when she wakes she will not think it long. THE FIRST SPRING DAY. I WONDER if the sap is stirring yet, I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. I wonder if the springtide of this year Or if the world alone will bud and sing: Sing, hope, to me; Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory. |