The Wife-Blessed

I.



In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur,

Lorn-faced and long of hair--

In youth--in youth he painted her

A sister of the air--

Could clasp her not, but felt the stir

Of pinions everywhere.





II.



She lured his gaze, in braver days,

And tranced him sirenwise;

And he did paint her, through a haze

Of sullen paradise,

With scars of kisses on her face

And embers in her eyes.





III.



And now--nor dream nor wild conceit--

Though faltering, as before--

Through tears he paints her, as is meet,

Tracing the dear face o'er

With lilied patience meek and sweet

As Mother Mary wore.