| YOUNG MARY, loitering once her garden way, | |
| Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day, | |
| As wine that blushes water through. And soon, | |
| Out of the gold air of the afternoon, | |
| One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire, | 5 |
| Bound back above his ears with golden wire, | |
| Baring the eager marble of his face. | |
| Not man’s nor woman’s was the immortal grace | |
| Rounding the limbs beneath that robe of white, | |
| And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light, | 10 |
| Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair, | |
| That presence filled the garden. | |
| She stood there, | |
| Saying, “What would you, Sir?” | |
| He told his word, | 15 |
| “Blessed art thou of women!” Half she heard, | |
| Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known, | |
| The message of that clear and holy tone, | |
| That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart; | |
| Such serene tidings moved such human smart. | 20 |
| Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow. | |
| Her hands crept up her breast. She did but know | |
| It was not hers. She felt a trembling stir | |
| Within her body, a will too strong for her | |
| That held and filled and mastered all. With eyes | 25 |
| Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs, | |
| She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad.… | |
| She wished to speak. Under her breasts she had | |
| Such multitudinous burnings, to and fro, | |
| And throbs not understood; she did not know | 30 |
| If they were hurt or joy for her; but only | |
| That she was grown strange to herself, half lonely, | |
| All wonderful, filled full of pains to come | |
| And thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb, | |
| Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far, | 35 |
| Divine, dear, terrible, familiar… | |
| Her heart was faint for telling; to relate | |
| Her limbs’ sweet treachery, her strange high estate, | |
| Over and over, whispering, half revealing, | |
| Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing. | 40 |
| ’Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her, | |
| She raised her eyes to that fair messenger. | |
| He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyes | |
| Gazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies; | |
| Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind. | 45 |
| His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind. | |
| How should she, pitiful with mortality, | |
| Try the wide peace of that felicity | |
| With ripples of her perplexed shaken heart, | |
| And hints of human ecstasy, human smart, | 50 |
| And whispers of the lonely weight she bore, | |
| And how her womb within was hers no more | |
| And at length hers? | |
| Being tired, she bowed her head; | |
| And said, “So be it!” | 55 |
| The great wings were spread | |
| Showering glory on the fields, and fire. | |
| The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher, | |
| Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shone | |
| A gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone. | 60 |
| |
| The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone. | |
