Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/156

 MARY AND GABRIEL

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,

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,

Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair,

That presence filled the garden.

She stood there,

Saying, "What would you, Sir?"

He told his word,

"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.

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

Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs,

She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad. . ..