Slim feet than lilies tenderer,—
Margérie!
That scarce upbore the body of her,
Naked upon the stones they were;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
White as a shroud the silken gown,—
Margérie!
That flowed from shoulder to ankle down,
With clear blue shadows along it thrown;
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
On back and bosom withouten braid,—
Margérie!
In crispèd glory of darkling red,
Round creamy temples her hair was shed;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
Eyes, like a dim sea, viewed from far,—
Margérie!
Lips that no earthly love shall mar,
More sweet that lips of mortals are;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
The chamber walls are cracked and bare;—
Margérie!
Without the gossips stood astare
At men her bed away that bare;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
Five pennies lay her hand within,—
Margérie!
So she her fair soul's weal might win,
Little she reck'd of dule or teen;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
Dank straw from dunghill gathered,—
Margérie!
Where fragrant swine have made their bed,
Thereon her body shall be laid;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
Three pennies to the poor in dole,—
Margérie!
One to the clerk her knell shall toll,
And one to masses for her soul;—
C'est ça Sainte Margérie!
Unknown.
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