Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Poems. V. The Birthday CrownWilliam Alexander (18241911)
I
Your silent being, O ye country flowers,
Twisted by tender hands
Into a royal brede,
Of the small queen upon her rustic throne,
But breathe thy finest scent
Of almond round about.
Tinct deeper gives variety of gold,
Inwoven lily, and vetch
Bedropp’d with summer’s blood,
Oh, wither not until the sunset come,
Until the sunset’s shaft
Slope through the chestnut tree;
With the great light above her mimic court—
Her threads of sunny hair
Girt sunnily by you.
What drops may touch her forehead not of balm,
What thorns, what cruel thorns,
I will not guess to-day.
Ye dying flowers, and thou, O dying light,
My prayer shall rise—“O Christ!
Give her the unfading crown.
The thorny crown o’er pale and dying lips,
I dare not choose for her—
Give her the unfading crown!”