Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
On the Death of Francis ThompsonAlfred Noyes (1880–1958)
H
Purpureally enwound
With those rich thorns, the brows
How infinitely crown’d
That now thro’ Death’s dark house
Have pass’d with royal gaze:
Purpureally enwound
How grandly glow the bays!
Pulsing with three-fold pain,
Where the lark fails of flight
Soar’d the celestial strain;
Beyond the sapphire height
Flew the gold-wingèd feet
Beautiful, pierced with pain,
Sweet, sweet and three-fold sweet;
Are wed in one sweet name,
And the world’s rootless vine
With dew of stars aflame
Laughs, from those deep divine
Impossibilities,
Our reason all to shame—
This cannot be, but is;
Beyond all mortal sight,
The Nothingness that conceived
The worlds of day and night,
The Nothingness that heaved
Pure sides in virgin sleep,
Brought out of darkness, light;
And man from out the Deep.
Let not thine hand be thrust:
Nothingness is a world
Thy science well may trust …
But lo, a leaf unfurl’d,
Nay, a cry mocking thee
From the first grain of dust—
I am, yet cannot be!
Into that last deep shrine,
Must not the child-heart see
Its deepest symbol shine—
The world’s Birth-mystery,
Whereto the suns are shade?
Lo, the white breast divine—
The Holy Mother-maid!
That cross of Yea and Nay,
That paradox of heaven
Whose palms point either way,
Thro’ each a nail being driven
That the arms outspan the skies
And our earth-dust this day
Out-sweeten Paradise!
Our wisdom would divide
The raiment of the King,
Our spear is in His side,
Even while the angels sing
Around our perishing globe,
And Death re-knits in pride
The seamless purple robe …
Purpureally enwound
With those rich thorns, the brows
How infinitely crown’d
That now thro’ Death’s dark house
Have pass’d with royal gaze:
Purpureally crown’d
How grandly glow the bays!