Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/205

 Where in pure hands she took the head Severed, and with pure lips still red Kissed the lips dead.

For years through, sweetest of the saints, In quiet without cease she wrought, Till cries of men and fierce complaints From outward moved her maiden thought; And prayers she heard and sighs toward France, “God, send us back deliverance, Send back thy servant, lest we die!” With an exceeding bitter cry They smote the sky.

Then in her sacred saving hands She took the sorrows of the lands, With maiden palms she lifted up The sick time’s blood-embittered cup, And in her virgin garment furled The faint limbs of a wounded world. Clothed with calm love and clear desire, She went forth in her soul’s attire, A missive fire.

Across the might of men that strove It shone, and over heads of kings;