MAGDALEN
Do you remember, love, the thing I wasThat summer morning when you stood with meThere in the rain-wet fields, where the sweet windBlew my hair loose and free?Do you remember? Ay! My soul was cleanAs that clean wind that blew between us two;My spirit burned as some white temple flameWhen the god passes through.You were my god—and all of earth fell back;I saw but you—knew only you were near;Look in my eyes—What is it there todayThat strikes you cold with fear?You stooped that day to touch your cheek to mine—I laugh to watch you shrink and shudder now;Am I so changed? Look well—it is your markThat brands me, cheek and brow.Ay! and my hand-print lies upon your soul!You cannot loose my fingers from your own;And though your feet go up to palaces,Or down to Hell they do not go alone.