And weave a veil about you, which
Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.

The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man
Are sceptic and satirical.
"_What, little saint, and still you scan
Old heaven for that miracle?_"
Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not,
Child-widow of a truth that died,
Bearer in mind of things forgot,
Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.

About you and about you thunders
The wise young public on its 'bus,
Exploding all your faery blunders,
Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus
Hath science banished heaven now,
And see--your Groom is crucified--_"
On heaven's breast you lean your brow
And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride.




THE SLAVE OF GOD


The finest fruit God ever made
Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue.
It hangs above the steel sea blade