D. G. Rossetti.

• The Blessed Damosel leaned out
• From the gold bar of heaven;
• Her eyes knew more of rest and shade
• Than waters stilled at even,
• She held three lilies in her hand,
• And the stars in her hair were seven.

• Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
• No wrought flowers did adorn,
• But a white rose of Mary's gift,
• 10 For service meetly worn;
• And the hair lying down her back
• Was yellow, like ripe corn.

• Her seemed she scarce had been a day
• One of God's choristers,
• The wonder was not yet quite gone
• From that still look of hers,
• Albeit to them she left the day
• Had counted as ten years.

• (To one it is ten years of years.
• 20 . . . . Yet now, and in this place,
• Surely she leaned o'er me,—her hair
• Fell all about my face. . . . .
• Nothing,—the autumn fall of leaves.
• The whole year sets apace.)

• It was the rampart of God's house
• That she was standing on,
• By God built over the sheer depth
• The which is space begun,
• So high that looking downward thence
• 30 She scarce could see the sun.

• It lies in heaven, across the flood
• Of Æther, like a bridge;
• Beneath, the tides of day and night
• With flame and blackness ridge
• The void, as low as where the earth
• Spins, like a fretful midge.

• She scarcely heard her sweet new friends
• Playing at holy games,
• Softly they spoke among themselves
• 40 Their virginal, chaste names,



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• And the souls, mounting up to God,
• Went by her like thin flames.

• And still she bowed above the vast
• Waste sea of worlds that swarm,
• Until her bosom must have made
• The bar she leaned on warm,
• And the lilies lay as if asleep
• Along her bended arm.

• From the fixed place of heaven, she saw
• 50 Time, like a pulse, shake fierce
• Through all the worlds, her gaze still strove
• Within the gulf to pierce
• Its path, and now she spoke, as when
• The stars sung in their spheres.

• The sun was gone now, the curved moon
• Hung, like a little feather,
• Transcription Gap: one letter (printer's error, 'F' missing)
  luttering far down the gulf, and now
• She spoke through the still weather,
• Her voice was like the voice the stars
• 60 Had, when they sang together.

• “I wish that he would come to me!
• For he will come,” she said.
• “Have I not prayed in heaven? on earth
• Lord! Lord! has he not prayed?
• Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
• And shall I feel afraid?

• “When 'round his head the aureole clings
• And he is clothed in white,
• I'll take his hand and go with him
• 70 To the deep wells of light,
• And we will step down as to a stream,
• And bathe there, in God's sight.

• “We two will stand beside that shrine
• Occult, withheld, untrod,
• Whose lamps are stirred continually
• By prayers sent up to God,
• And see our old prayers, granted, melt,
• Each like a little cloud.

• “We two will lie in the shadow of
• 80 The living, mystic tree
• Within whose secret growth the dove
• Is sometimes felt to be,
• While every leaf that his plumes touch
• Saith his name audibly.

• “And I myself will teach to him,
• I myself, lying so,
• The songs I sing here, which his voice
• Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
• And find new knowledge in each pause
• 90 Or some new thing to know.”

• (Ah, sweet! just now, in that bird's song,
• Strove not her accents there
• Fain to be hearkened? When those bells
• Possessed the midday air,
• Was she not stepping to my side
• Down all the trembling stair?)

• “We two,” she said “will seek the grove
• Where the lady Mary is
• With her five handmaidens, whose names
• 100 Are five sweet symphonies,—
• Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
• Margaret and Rosalys.

• “Circlewise sit they, with bound locks
• And foreheads garlanded,
• Into the fine cloth white like flame
• Weaving the golden thread,
• To fashion the birth robes for them
• Who are just born, being dead.

• “He shall fear, haply, and be dumb,
• 110 Then I will lay my cheek
• To his, and tell about our love,
• Not once abashed or weak,
• And the dear Mother shall approve
• My pride, and let me speak.



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• “Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
• To Him, 'round whom all souls
• Kneel, the unnumbered ransomed heads
• Bowed with their aureoles;
• And angels meeting us, shall sing
• 120 To their citherns and citoles.

• “There will I ask of Christ the Lord
• Thus much for him and me,—
• Only to live, as once on earth,
• At peace, only to be,
• As then awhile, forever now
• Together, I and he.”

• She gazed, and listened, and then said,
• Less sad of speech than mild,
• “All this is when he comes,” she ceased,
• 130 The light thrilled past her, filled
• With angels in strong level lapse,—
• Her eyes prayed, and she smiled.

• (I saw her smile) but soon their flight
• Was vague in distant spheres,
• And then she laid her arms along
• The golden barriers,
• And bowed her head upon her hands,
• And wept; (I heard her tears.)