MAGDALEN
Do you remember, love, the thing I was
That summer morning when you stood with me
There in the rain-wet fields, where the sweet wind
Blew my hair loose and free?
Do you remember? Ay! My soul was clean
As that clean wind that blew between us two;
My spirit burned as some white temple flame
When the god passes through.
You were my god—and all of earth fell back;
I saw but you—knew only you were near;
Look in my eyes—What is it there today
That strikes you cold with fear?
You stooped that day to touch your cheek to mine—
I laugh to watch you shrink and shudder now;
Am I so changed? Look well—it is your mark
That brands me, cheek and brow.
Ay! and my hand-print lies upon your soul!
You cannot loose my fingers from your own;
And though your feet go up to palaces,
Or down to Hell they do not go alone.