The Poet's Picture
The pent-up passion of her soul
Deepens the pallor of her face,
Against her throbbing heart the whole
Wide sorrow of the world finds place,
And deep compassion and love's grace.
Deepens the pallor of her face,
Against her throbbing heart the whole
Wide sorrow of the world finds place,
And deep compassion and love's grace.
The brow half hid by curling hair,
Is like a child's—so pure and white—
Sweet words have made the rose-lips fair—
And in the wistful eyes a flight
Of fluctuant dreams pass, day and night.
Is like a child's—so pure and white—
Sweet words have made the rose-lips fair—
And in the wistful eyes a flight
Of fluctuant dreams pass, day and night.
Frail girl in whom God's glories meet!
Why was she so divinely made?
Surely the angels, when complete
Why was she so divinely made?
Surely the angels, when complete
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