Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1042

 ARTHUR WILLIAM EDGAR O'SHAUGHNESSY

Her passing touch was death to all,

Her passing look a blight; She made the white rose-petals fall,

And turn'd the red rose white.

��Her pale robe clinging to the grass

Seem'd like a snake That bit the grass and grounds, alas!

And a sad trail did make. She went up slowly to the gate,

And then, just as of yore, She turn'd back at the last to wait

And say farewell once more.

��GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS 834 Heaven-Haven

A nun takes the veil

��I

��HAVE desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.

��And I have asked to be

Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,

And out of the swing of the sea.

�� �