WHY JESUS WEPT 
53 
 
Her pale, her golden body lies ! 
Even asleep the dark long lashes move, 
And the eyes see.  She dreams of me, of love, 
Of all these bridal ecstasies 
That have been ours this month, this month of joy. 
I am a foolish boy ; 
Did not the golden starred Ambassador 
Come like a father to me and implore 
I would look straight on truth ? 
“ This is no love-sick youth ! ” 
He cried, “ She is nigh sixty years of age ; 
Her lovers are a mangled multitude ; 
You are one duckling of an infinite brood 
This vixen hath up-gobbled ! ” Am I mage ? 
Ay, for I grant the aged diplomat 
His truth — the truth for him !  To me she is 
The rosy incarnation of a kiss, 
The royal rapture of a young delight, 
The mazy music of virginity, 
Sun of the day, moon of the night, 
All, all to me ! 
Angela, angel !  Thou hast made me man, 
And poet over-man !  To thee, 
To thee I owe transfiguration, peace, 
The wide dominion of the wan 
Abyss of air.  I can look out and see 
Beyond the stars, black seas 
Wherein no star may swim, 
Thence, far beyond the vast revolving spheres