Radiant and fragrant, as in trance, remained.
II.
Yes, Mother of God, though thou didst stoop to die,
Death could not mar thy beauty. On thy face
Nor time nor grief had wrinkle left or trace:
It had but aged in God-like majesty:
Mature, yet, save the mother in thine eye,
As maiden-fresh as when, of all our race,
Thou, first and last, wast greeted “full of grace”—
Ere thrice five years had worshipped and gone by.