by AE
Why do these tragic fancies throng
About the subject of my song,
Whose heart and lips, twin fountains, spray
A foam of fancies ever gay?
Oh, tell me, why should eyes be wet
In musing upon Margaret?

Why is the dream of her allied
With empires humbled in their pride?
Why should I see this face of flowers
Mid cities with their burning towers?
Why should a thorny crown be set
Above the brows of Margaret?

Who breathe too long the golden airs
Must wrestle after with despairs.
We warred with elemental powers
While you have come a way of flowers.
Your feet are all unstained, but yet
Your feet have strayed, O Margaret.

Beauty and strength as creatures roam
Athirst for their eternal home,
Yet come they singly unallied
The heavenly city is denied.
Till loveliness and power are met,
No heaven for you, poor Margaret.

How could you tame, so slight and fair,
The burning dragon of the air,
Till queened amid its awful wings
They bear you to the King of Kings?
Such high adventures are not set
For frailty, gay Margaret.

So many glories passed away,
Rome, Babylon, and Nineveh;
Their beauty kept a lonely heart
From the dim underworld apart,
And by barbaric hosts beset
They fell as you shall, Margaret.

Yet still you might the kingdom claim
Without the martyrdom and shame,
Could you but seek of your accord
That other angel of the Lord,
Hold out the hands when you have met,
The way is pity, Margaret.
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