Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.
Harriet Eleanor Hamilton King (18401920)170. The Bride Reluctant
‘L
Leave the late roses to their fall;
Dismiss the nurselings thou dost tend;
I hear another, closer call.
’Tis I, thy Guardian, give thee word,
Thy Bridegroom seeketh thee, O sweet!
Thy Bridegroom comes,—His step I heard—
Within thy chamber thee to meet.’
’Tis pleasant in the outer room;
I love the airy summer clime,
And not the inner chamber’s gloom.
And this year’s roses will not come
Again; but betwixt us the bond
Is fixed, and fast, and wearisome;
For one is fickle, one is fond.’
Tearful, and seeking only thee;
With ravished eyes, and outstretched hands,
And He commands resistlessly.
Come to thy chamber, though it be
Narrow, and dark, and full of pain;
He paid a heavy price for thee,
And can He let thee go again?’
My Bridegroom’s kiss is ice and fire,
My Bridegroom’s clasp is iron-barred,
I am consumed in His desire:
My Bridegroom’s touch is as a sword
That pierces every nerve and limb;
“Depart from me,” I moan, “O Lord!”
All the night long I spend with Him.’
The passion of His love for thee;
He sees thee perfect, without spot,
Crowned with celestial jewelry.
The doors of Heaven could not hold
His feet from hasting to thy side;
The ardours of the Suns are cold
To His for thee, His hard-won bride.’
Compelled by law and not by love.
Oh, would I were enfranchised; then
With wings of silver, like a dove—
Then would I flee, past heaven’s far bound,
The unendurable embrace;
Then would I hide in earth’s profound
From the strange terror of His Face!’
Liking or loth I thee have led:
He is thine own, albeit He wist
That thy half-hearted love was dead.
What though His Bride with Him must share
A couch of thorns without repose?
Thousands this moment death would dare
To know one word of all she knows.’
To face the open sunrise skies;
I pine for friends that I might choose;
I pine for little children’s eyes;
For free and fearless limbs—to move
Breasting the wave, breasting the breeze:
But jealous love is cruel love,
And He denies me all of these.’
Take back thy life and liberty;
Thy days shall flow in simple joys,
And undisturbed thy nights shall be.
Thy Bridegroom does thee no more wrong,
Poor child, the victim of His Heart:
Look but on Him once more,—one long
Last look, and then from Him depart.
Bare desert, where I might be free!
Thy Face I see—Thy Face, my own,
And naught in heaven or earth but Thee!
But O my Lord, my Life, my Love,
Thou knowest all my weakness best;
Take back into the ark Thy dove,
And comfort me upon Thy breast!’