Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MARY, by AMANDA BENJAMIN HALL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MARY, by                    
First Line: Twice martha called remindingly, then torn
Last Line: ". . . ""mary,"" . . . She called again. . . ."
Alternate Author Name(s): Brownell, John A., Mrs.
Subject(s): Mary. Mother Of Jesus; Women In The Bible; Virgin Mary


Twice Martha called remindingly, then torn
'Twixt duty and decorum ceased to try;
Outside the bird-notes failed as they were born --
The silences hung heavy in the sky.

But there were two who watched the shadows run,
Gravely, the twilight spilling from a tree
Beside the door-step. Jesus caught the sun
And held it on the mountain of His knee,

While Mary drew the shadows down to her,
Extinguishing in them a look too bright,
Content that He should find her face a blur,
Her humbleness a valley to His height.

Her stillness cupped His speech. Now far behind
His thought had left a foot-path for her own,
And she could take the journey of His mind
When His own journey left her there alone . . .

Wisely He spoke. She leaned upon His word
Her weight of trust, all soul to what He said
Save when a heart-beat broke that had not heard
And filled her with soft agony instead,

And she remembered yesterday, the irk
Of her routine with Martha. Even now
She knew the troubled peace of those who shirk
Yet yearned to touch the lilies of His brow,

Or that small, cruel mark upon each hand,
So faint it seemed the ghost of wounds to come.
She saw and strangely seemed to understand;
So many fears cried out that she was dumb,

Wondering if she bent to kiss the scar
Would He rebuke her. In the vivid track
Of blue above the trees she saw a star --
Her unbound hair fell weeping down her back.

"Master," she sighed, "my sister will be wroth . . ."
He said, "Yet time will teach her. . . ." At His feet
Her fingers touched the terror of His cloth;
The children's cries swept music down the street . . .

"And soon I shall be gone. . . ." A sadder veil
Of night now meshed the fig and prickly pear;
She saw the scattered olive branches pale,
The cactus dimly splintering the air,

And waited, silence asking even more,
Until the drenching darkness fell like rain.
Martha was conscience standing at the door --
. . . "Mary," . . . she called again. . . .





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net