79 
 
 
 
 
 
ROSEMARY 
 
“ There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance ;   
Pray you, love, remember ! ”—Hamlet. 
 
AMID the grandeur of my melancholy 
 Lackeyed by spectres of my sombre past, 
I sit and smile at all the shapes of folly 
 
That I evoke—save One, that looms at last 
 Towering above these ten tremendous years. 
I see Him, sacred, single in the vast, 
 
A Man of Sorrows, grey with useless tears ;   
 A Man of Glory, with His aureole 
Radiant gossamer, a mist of spears 
 
Storming the sky, His heart one crimson coal 
 To burn all lesser gods, to gild the shame 
Of this my life’s long infamy, the soul 
 
(Abased for Him) in Him one flower of flame— 
 Mine Aceldama one white lily-bloom 
Availing me above all wealth and fame