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I am a beggar maiden, I sleep beneath a thorn, At night my tree is thick with stars, I see the slender horn Of the young moon, I see the clean Essential light of morn.
The King Cophetua and his Queen Ride by disdainfully; He glitters like a dragonfly, A scornful mouth has she— A curled red leaf— Yet she was once A beggar maid like me.
The spearmen ride before them. My path no mortal knows; A ruby smoulders on her brow, My thicket yields a rose. Dance, dusty feet! I’m glad I’m not The maid Cophetua chose.
OUR LADY OF UNDERSTANDING
OUR Lady understands Though prayerful are her folded hands; Her face is pale Within the azure shadow of her veil. Here in this shrine she seems remote, apart, For the dim centuries have quenched her fire, The slow years molded her to their desire. Ah, still she knows The ecstasy that glows In my wild heart! Once, not submissive, meek With pensive brow and duteous cheek, There came a cry exultant, strong; “My soul doth magnify the Lord!” Clear as a ringing sword I hear her song. In high humility She knew herself to be The Chosen of God, the Gate of the Divine. I kneel before her shrine, I gaze upon her tranquil face, Hail Mary, full of grace! I, too, know Love, And I am humble, proud, and wise. Our Lady understands All joy, all woe; The Son of God she laid to rest Upon her breast, She knew the wounded Hands, And there is nothing else to know.