88 THE WHORE IN HEAVEN
Hate, triumph, justice, with their hardness strove
Pity, pure pity; and, I think, the love
Of some God’s angel. Now the strife is past;
She took her father home with her at last.
Now, in that moment, quite a miracle!
Through all the shell of miserable sin,
Through all the blackness of the gulf of Hell,
She sees Truth’s angel. She is locked within
No irrefragable bars; her spirit woke
From its dull slavery; her passion broke
Her history’s prison, from that hour to endure
Mighty as tempest and as spring wind pure.
After a year her changed life met its fate.
There came a man and loved her, and her soul
The first time knew true sympathy. Elate,
That pure joy filled her body’s broken bow!
With infinite fresh fire and purer wine;
Her whole life grew one exquisite divine
Flower of the sunlight; memory alone
Held its stern sceptre on a cruel throne.
She simply fled and would not see his face.
A noble folly! In the countryside
Where her harsh youth was nurtured, in the place
Where she revolted, she lay down and died.
With crossed hands folded on her budded breast
She closed her eyes, and slept the sweet long rest
Where the true peace of purity is drawn.
She lay there dead; her spirit sought the dawn.