Look Upon Her Face

I.

In a white grove of lemon-trees
A girl worked at a loom. No one was there
But spake she still, for who can know?
The wind may have an ear.
O like snowmelt her voice was clear
And her heart was in it like the eagle
In his eyrie vertiginous,
And this is what she spake:
“I never from this work shall stir
Ere pearls of fire shake from the clouds,
Ere all the rivers turn to glass;
Nor shall I from this grove depart,
Ere I am wed to God himself.
Nevertheless at every court
Shall I be known by name,
And ev’ry city on this earth
Shall hold me in esteem.”
And she was beautiful in speaking thus,
So all things trembled in their blood
To gaze upon her face.

II.

In an empty courtyard an ivory statue stood
That men had lauded once and then forgot
Because of turbid passion in the blood;
What said the Irish poet on the theme?
Does the imagination dwell the most
Upon a woman won or woman lost?
So here the matter was, and centuries
Had not by the slow drip of memory
Worn through that stone. Song and stories
Bore its semblance, and father told to son
How heart had raced when he was young
To look upon a thing that’s now forgot.

III.

The word got out. A pigeon in the bush
Heard those red lips expound their thoughts,
Betook himself upon the wing at once
To pollinate the sense of them. Eftsoon
The world was pregnant with her wish
And strove to give it birth. Quotidian
Women and men abandoned all,
Kings scorned their thrones and magistrates
Hung up their etchéd keys
To come to her white lemon-grove
Bury her feet in priceless gifts,
And look upon her face.

IV.

In a white lemon-grove an ivory statue stands,
In an empty courtyard a girl works at her loom.