Classic Poem

Friend, little weak fair Christine, see
What a wail came, your long sigh
To my dove's nest. O! but my nest is built high,
Here at Heaven's edge. In His love
On the warm snowy breast of His bride,
I well hidden, revelling in the sweets.
Christine, He called me, I was bidden;
Listen how He called—no, that was eternally,
How I heard. On one eve then—
You remember our room,
The little dear room in our world's home, where we
Oft by the lattice sat talking familiarly,
Now with one or another
Sweet word of our love each for other,
Of our loves shared, our light cares,
Our young joys, our fears,
As the years flew; until I,
With a little flutter apart, I from you
Borne, by what will I know not,
Even in its stress scarcely knew, now all's dim,
But the breach grew, I being pressed back.
From you, from your wide reach, within
To His rest, into Him.
On one eve then, we having been together bodily,
But your being gone,
The warm clasp of your hand only left,
And sweet print of a kiss, I alone
In the luscious solitude of the long hours, stood
Hushed, by the little crucifix.
It was June—
O, the great soulless joy of the year!
Flushed at flood height of luxury,
Drunk with God's blood—
I by the little crucifix stood,
Pondering, pale by the cold form,
Cold within and crushed into a dark night,
Wondering, He that made it all,
Life of the life in me,
Life of the whole universe inwardly,
Is He in anguish still and mourning
For the love of the scorning world?
Crucified, O crucified!
And lo! “Behold me,” the pale lips sighed,
Yea, once, twice, thrice, 'twas spoken
Then, “Behold me,” my whole soul replied,
“Lord, but one little word,
Life-spark from Thee, one word—
And let all die, every love in me else,
If that I have but Thee,
Bruised, broken beneath Thine agony.”
Once, twice, and thrice—as I crept close
Into the ark, the nest, the bride,
Into the pulse, into the life, into the wounded side
Sealed with the love-kiss,
By His own inner token His;
So, in the night I rose; not I,
Where is there any longer one, Christine,
Of the dim years floated by,
One you held lovingly,
One of the happy twain?
Let it all pass, dear, put the old loves away,
Come to the dear feet with me, kiss them, stay,
Let the grey years drop by the road-side heaped up for death,
List what the Beloved saith,
Sayeth ever “Behold me,” lie
Where I lay that day,
Let the loving breath blow by and slay,
Pray to Mary. Not yours dear, but Christ's for aye,