MARY AND GABRIEL
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oung Mary, loitering once her garden way,Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day,As wine that blushes water through. And soon,Out of the gold air of the afternoon,One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire,Bound back above his ears with golden wire,Baring the eager marble of his face.Not man's nor woman's was the immortal graceRounding the limbs beneath that robe of white,And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light,Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair,That presence filled the garden.She stood there,Saying, "What would you, Sir?"He told his word,"Blessed art thou of women!" Half she heard,Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known,The message of that clear and holy tone,That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart;Such serene tidings moved such human smart.Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow.Her hands crept up her breast. She did but knowIt was not hers. She felt a trembling stirWithin her body, a will too strong for herThat held and filled and mastered all. With eyesClosed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs,She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad....She wished to speak. Under her breasts she hadSuch multitudinous burnings, to and fro,And throbs not understood; she did not knowIf they were hurt or joy for her; but onlyThat she was grown strange to herself, half lonely,All wonderful, filled full of pains to comeAnd thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb,Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far,Divine, dear, terrible, familiar...Her heart was faint for telling; to relateHer limbs' sweet treachery, her strange high estate,Over and over, whispering, half revealing,Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing.'Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her,She raised her eyes to that fair messenger.He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyesGazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies;Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind.His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind.How should she, pitiful with mortality,Try the wide peace of that felicityWith ripples of her perplexed shaken heart,And hints of human ecstasy, human smart,And whispers of the lonely weight she bore,And how her womb within was hers no moreAnd at length hers?Being tired, she bowed her head;And said, "So be it!"The great wings were spreadShowering glory on the fields, and fire.The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher,Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shoneA gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone. The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone. THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY The day that _Youth_ had died,There came to his grave-side,In decent mourning, from the county's ends,Those scatter'd friendsWho had lived the boon companions of his prime,And laughed with him and sung with him and wasted,In feast and wine and many-crown'd carouse,The days and nights and dawnings of the timeWhen _Youth_ kept open house,Nor left untastedAught of his high emprise and ventures dear,No quest of his unshar'd--All these, with loitering feet and sad head bar'd,Followed their old friend's bier._Folly_ went first,With muffled bells and coxcomb still revers'd;And after trod the bearers, hat in hand--_Laughter_, most hoarse, and Captain _Pride_ with tannedAnd martial face all grim, and fussy _Joy_,Who had to catch a train, and _Lust_, poor, snivelling boy;These bore the dear departed.Behind them, broken-hearted,Came _Grief_, so noisy a widow, that all said,"Had he but wedHer elder sister _Sorrow_, in her stead!"And by her, trying to soothe her all the time,The fatherless children, _Colour_, _Tune_, and _Rhyme_(The sweet lad _Rhyme_), ran all-uncomprehending.Then, at the way's sad ending,Round the raw grave they stay'd. Old _Wisdom_ read,In mumbling tone, the Service for the Dead.There stood _Romance_,The furrowing tears had mark'd her rouged cheek;Poor old _Conceit_, his wonder unassuaged;Dead _Innocency's_ daughter, _Ignorance_;And shabby, ill-dress'd _Generosity_;And _Argument_, too full of woe to speak;_Passion_, grown portly, something middle-aged;And _Friendship_--not a minute older, she;_Impatience_, ever taking out his watch;_Faith_, who was deaf, and had to lean, to catchOld _Wisdom's_ endless drone._Beauty_ was there,Pale in her black; dry-eyed; she stood alone.Poor maz'd _Imagination_; _Fancy_ wild;_Ardour_, the sunlight on his greying hair;_Contentment_, who had known _Youth_ as a childAnd never seen him since. And _Spring_ came too,Dancing over the tombs, and brought him flowers--She did not stay for long.And _Truth_, and _Grace_, and all the merry crew,The laughing _Winds_ and _Rivers_, and lithe _Hours_;And _Hope_, the dewy-eyed; and sorrowing _Song_;--Yes, with much woe and mourning general,At dead _Youth's_ funeral,Even these were met once more together, all,Who erst the fair and living _Youth_ did know;All, except only _Love_. _Love_ had died long ago.
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