While thine, O childlike Virgin! through all time
Shall send its fervent breath o’er every clime,
Being of God, and therefore not to die.
THE PENITENT ANOINTING CHRIST’S FEET.
There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,
That saw thee, woman! bright in this world’s train,
Moving to pleasure’s airy melodies,
Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.
But from thy beauty’s garland, brief and vain,
When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn;