Part 6 (2/2)

Where are the islands of the blest, And where Atlantis, where Theleme?”

MARY MAGDALEN

O eyes that strip the souls of men!

There came to me the Magdalen.

Her blue robe with a cord was bound, Her hair with Lenten lilies crowned.

”Arise,” she said ”G.o.d calls for thee, Turned to new paths thy feet must be.

Leave the fever and the feast Leave the friend thou lovest best: For thou must walk in barefoot ways, To give my dear Lord Jesus praise.”

Then answered I--”Sweet Magdalen, G.o.d's servant, once beloved of men, Why didst thou change old ways for new, Thy trailing red for corded blue, Roses for lilies on thy brow, Rich splendour for a barren vow?”

Gentle of speech she answered me:- ”Sir, I was sick with revelry.

True, I have scarred the night with sin, A pale and tawdry heroine; But once I heard a voice that said 'Who lives in sin is surely dead, But whoso turns to follow me Hath joy and immortality.'”

”O Mary, not for this,” I cried, ”Didst thou renounce thy scented pride.

Not for a taste of endless years Or barren joy apart from tears Didst thou desert the courts of men.

Tell me thy truth, sweet Magdalen!”

She trembled, and her eyes grew dim:- ”For love of Him, for love of Him.”

I ROSE FROM DREAMLESS HOURS

I rose from dreamless hours and sought the morn That beat upon my window: from the sill I watched sweet lands, where Autumn light newborn Swayed through the trees and lingered on the hill.

If things so lovely are, why labour still To dream of something more than this I see?

Do I remember tales of Galilee, I who have slain my faith and freed my will?

Let me forget dead faith, dead mystery, Dead thoughts of things I cannot comprehend.

Enough the light mysterious in the tree, Enough the friends.h.i.+p of my chosen friend.

PRAYER

Let me not know how sins and sorrows glide Along the sombre city of our rage, Or why the sons of men are heavy-eyed.

Let me not know, except from printed page, The pain of litter love, of baffled pride, Or sickness shadowing with a long presage.

Let me not know, since happy some have died Quickly in youth or quietly in age, How faint, how loud the bravest hearts have cried.

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