The lilies that lean by the altar Are pale as My Lady appears, And the notes of the choristers falter And fall on unlistening ears, For her face is more luring and fairer Than the loveliest lily unfolded, And her grace is more rhythmical, rarer, Than by music e'er molded. In the pride of her piety, stately, Unbending, she moves in the aisle, With eyes looking downward sedately, With lips uncaressed by a smile. She 's a saint, from the sole of her sandal To the crown of her burnished bronze hair— With my heart on her shrine for a candle I'd worship her there. Well I know why all nature aspires And spring's jewels we crush at our feet, Why the sun spills the gold of its fires And it lies unobserved in the street— 'Tis because from her saintly seclusion My Lady emerges, reborn, To dazzle, and dare our intrusion, And lure us with scorn. She comes with her heritage olden; Like a sorceress swaddled in smiles She will charm us again, unbeholden To aught but her womanly wiles. She bewilders and blinds, and her voice is Like a heavenly promise enthralling. We adore her and—well, she rejoices That love is our calling! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. KESSLER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PARAGRAPHS: 16 by HAYDEN CARRUTH FRAGMENTS WRITTEN WHILE TRAVELING...A MIDWESTERN HEAT WAVE by JAMES GALVIN THE JOBHOLDER by DAVID IGNATOW SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MA LADY'S LIPS AM LIKE DE HONEY (NEGRO LOVE SONG) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |