Foreboding

Why do these tragic fancies throng

About the subject of my song,

Whose heart and lips, twin fountains, spray

A foam of fancies ever gay?

Oh, tell me, why should eyes be wet

In musing upon Margaret?

Why is the dream of her allied

With empires humbled in their pride?

Why should I see this face of flowers

Mid cities with their burning towers?

Why should a thorny crown be set

Above the brows of Margaret?

Who breathe too long the golden airs

Must wrestle after with despairs.

We warred with elemental powers

While you have come a way of flowers.

Your feet are all unstained, but yet

Your feet have strayed, O Margaret.

Beauty and strength as creatures roam

Athirst for their eternal home,

Yet come they singly unallied

The heavenly city is denied.

Till loveliness and power are met,

No heaven for you, poor Margaret.

How could you tame, so slight and fair,

The burning dragon of the air,

Till queened amid its awful wings

They bear you to the King of Kings?

Such high adventures are not set

For frailty, gay Margaret.

So many glories passed away,

Rome, Babylon, and Nineveh;

Their beauty kept a lonely heart

From the dim underworld apart,

And by barbaric hosts beset

They fell as you shall, Margaret.

Yet still you might the kingdom claim

Without the martyrdom and shame,

Could you but seek of your accord

That other angel of the Lord,

Hold out the hands when you have met,

The way is pity, Margaret.