Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/233



By Olive Custance

pent-up passion of her soul Deepens the pallor of her face, Against her throbbing heart the whole
 * Wide sorrow of the world finds place,
 * And deep compassion and love’s grace.

The forehead 'neath the cloudy hair
 * Is like a child’s—so pure and white—

Sweet words have curved the rose-lips fair—
 * And in the wistful eyes a flight
 * Of fluctuant dreams pass, day and night.

Frail girl in whom God’s glories meet,
 * Why was she so divinely made?

Surely the angels, when complete
 * Her radiant spirit stood arrayed
 * In such fair flesh, felt half afraid!

The