In As Much...

When for love it was fain of

The wild heart was chidden,

When the white limbs were clothed

And the beauty was hidden;

For the scorn that was done to

The least of her graces,

The Mother veiled over

And hid from our faces

The high soul of nature,

The deep and the wonder,

Her towers up in heaven,

And the fairyland under.

The Mother then whispered,

“The wrong done by thee

To the least limb of beauty

Was done unto me.”