XLII
She her just Lord may view,
Not he, her creature, till his soul has yearned
With all her gifts to reach the light discerned
Her spirit through.
XLIIII
Then in him time shall run
As in the hour that to young sunlight crows;
And—‘If thou hast good faith it can repose,’
She tells her son.
XLIV
Meanwhile on him, her chief
Expression, her great word of life, looks she;
Twi-minded of him, as the waxing tree,
Or dated leaf.
A BALLAD OF FAIR LADIES IN REVOLT
I
See the sweet women, friend, that lean beneath
The ever-falling fountain of green leaves
Round the white bending stem, and like a wreath
Of our most blushful flower shine trembling through,
To teach philosophers the thirst of thieves:
Is one for me? is one for you?