Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/341

 Rh She smiling bends and lets her girdle down

For ladder to the soul that cannot trust

In life which outlasts burial. Agatha

Sat at her knitting, aged, upright, slim.

And spoke her welcome with mild dignity.

She kept the company of kings and queens

And mitred saints who sat below the feet

Of Francis with the ragged frock and wounds;

And Rank for her meant Duty, various,

Yet equal in its worth, done worthily.

Command was service; humblest service done

By willing and discerning souls was glory.

Fair Countess Linda sat upon the bench,

Close fronting the old knitter, and they talked

With sweet antiphony of young and old.

.

You like our valley, lady? I am glad

You thought it well to come again. But rest —

The walk is long from Master Michael's inn.

Yes, but no walk is prettier.

.

It is true:

There lacks no blessing here, the waters all

Have virtues like the garments of the Lord,

And heal much sickness; then, the crops and cows

Flourish past speaking, and the garden flowers,

Pink, blue, and purple, 't is a joy to see

How they yield honey for the singing bees.

I would the whole world were as good a home.

And you are well off, Agatha?—your friends

Left you a certain bread: is it not so?