Jephthah and Other Mysteries

MYSTERIES: The English lily is a bloom Too cold and sweet ; One might say—in the twilight gloom A maiden’s feet. Silent and slim and delicate The flower shall spring, Till there be born immaculate A fair new thing. Tall as the mother-lily, still By faint winds swayed ; Tender and pure, without a will— An English maid. No tree of poison, at whose feet All men lie dead ; No well of death, whose waters sweet Are tinged with red. No hideous impassioned queen For whom love dies ; No warm imperious Messaline That slew with sighs. Fiercer desires may cast away All things most good ; A people may forget to-day Their motherhood.