Classic Poem

I WOULD have killed you if I could,
I would have killed you where you stood,
Magdalena.

I would have killed you if a breath
Freighted with some insensate death,
Magdalena,

Had power to breathe your life away,
To so exhale that rose-hued clay,
Magdalena,

That it had faded from my sight
Like roses in a single night,
Magdalena.

I would have killed you thus, and felt
My will a blessed doom had dealt,
Magdalena

But who could smite that golden head,
Or mar that young cheek's perfect red,
Magdalena?

Or pierce that bosom's tender white,
And watch those dark eyes lose their light,
Magdalena?

Yet would to God that you were lying
Where last year's autumn leaves are dying,
Magdalena!

Ah, would to God! then I had been
Unconscious of your scarlet sin,
Magdalena!

Then I had never known the stain
Which purples all my life with pain,
Magdalena;

Which robs me of my beauteous bride,
And leaves me with my stricken pride,
Magdalena.

Ah, when I thought your soul as white
As the white rose you wore that night,
Magdalena!

I wondered how your mother came
To give you that sin-sullied name,
Magdalena.

Did some remorseless, vengeful Fate,
In mockery of your lofty state,
Magdalena,

Because you wore the branded name,
Fling over you its scarlet shame,
Magdalena?

There is no peace for you below
That horrid heritage of woe,
Magdalena.

There is no room for you on earth,
Accursed from your very birth,
Magdalena.

But where the angels chant and sing,
And where the amaranth-blossoms spring,
Magdalena,

There's room for you who have no room
Where lower angels chant your doom,
Magdalena.

There's room for you, the gate's ajar,
The white hands beckon from afar,
Magdalena.

And nearer yet they stoop, they wait,
They open wide the jasper gate,
Magdalena.

And nearer yet, — the hands stretch out,
A thousand silver trumpets shout,
Magdalena.

They lift you up through floods of light,
I see your garments growing white,
Magdalena

And whiter still, too white to touch
The robes of us who blamed you much,
Magdalena.