Penitence.
A Sonnet.
A sorrow that for shame had hid her face,
Soared to Heaven's gate, and knelt in penance there
Beneath the dusk cloud of her own wet hair,
Weeping, as who would fain some deed erase
That blots in dread eclipse baptismal grace:
Like a felled tree with all its branches fair
She lay—her forehead on the ivory stair—
Low murmuring, "Just art Thou, but I am base."
Then saw I in my spirit's unsealed ken
How Heaven's bright hosts thrilled like the gems of morn
When May winds on the incense-bosomed thorn
The diamonds change to ruby. Magdalen
Arose, and kissed the Saviour's feet once more,
And to that suffering soul his peace and pardon bore.
Aubrey De Vere.