Classic Poem

First over him my Lady placed a hand
White as a lily in a moonlit lane,
And passed a perfume over him for pain,
And bound about his brow a linen band,
And folding of it with her breath she fanned
That tight and tenderly it might remain,
And with her hair she cleansed every stain
Of blood and weariness, and, after, spanned
His forehead with the bays, and, after this,
When he could only weep, and, weeping, sigh
" O God, my Mother, thou hast sent me bliss
Too great to bear alive, so I must die, "
To his lips shuddering were her own brought nigh
In sweetest condescension of a kiss.