86 THE WHORE IN HEAVEN
The chill damp chapel. God denied them not
One chance of sight and love: their bed begot
The loveliest child angels e’er prayed above,
A maiden that an anchorite would love.
She grew to beauty and to thoughts divine,
Yet knelt each day in prayer to such a Thing
As could not (so she knew) create the vine,
The air, the linnet, and the water-spring.
And every week some red-nosed ranter jarred
Her tender ears—(yes, life was very hard }).
Then she guessed Love. A village boy she took,
And drew his soul out with her amorous look.
The stream sang merrier and the grass grew green ;
The leaves made murmur as she drew him down
Into her maiden arms: the far-off queen
She guessed so happy in her golden crown
She never envied after: for she wrung
Love’s secret, understanding, heart and tongue,
Its strange desire; sage heads the linnets nod,
Chirping: ‘‘So Lilian has found her God!”
No! For she might not in her joy discern
The real fountain of delight. She took
The carrion crow to be the golden erne,
Saw dainty covers, and misread the book.
The world was open to her now—she went
From passion unto passion, sacrament
To profanation: and the village knew
She asked for lovers, and cared little who.