Her drooping lids scarce lifted from the ground,
As if she faintly heard the distant flow
Of far-off seas of grief she could not sound.
I think archangels would not count it sin
If, underneath the veil that hides her eyes,
They, seeing all things, saw the soul within
Held more of mother-love than sacrifice.
She walks erect, the virgin undefiled,
Back from her throat the loose robe falls apart,
And e'en as she would clasp her royal Child,