Once more she lifts her lowly face,
And slowly lifts her large, dark eyes
Of wonder; and in still surprise
She looks full forward in her place.
She looks full forward on the air
Above the tomb, and yet below
The fruits of gold, the blooms of snow,
As looking--looking anywhere.
She feels--she knows not what she feels;
It is not terror, is not fear,
But there is something that reveals
A presence that is near and dear.
She does not let her eyes fall down,
They lift against the far profound:
Against the blue above the town
Two wide-winged vultures circle round.
Two brown birds swim above the sea,--
Her large eyes swim as dreamily
And follow far, and follow high,
Two circling black specks in the sky.
One forward step,--the closing door
Creaks out, as frightened or in pain;
Her eyes are on the ground again--
Two men are standing close before.
"My love," sighs one, "my life, my all!"
Her lifted foot across the sill
Sinks down,--and all things are so still
You hear the orange blossoms fall.
But fear comes not where duty is,
And purity is peace and rest;
Her cross is close upon her breast,
Her two hands clasp hard hold of this.
Her two hands clasp cross, book, and she
Is strong in tranquil purity,--
Ay, strong as Samson when he laid
His two hands forth, and bowed and prayed.
One at her left, one at her right,
And she between, the steps upon,--
I can but see that Syrian night,
The women there at early dawn
'Tis strange, I know, and may be wrong,
But ever pictured in my song;
And rhyming on, I see the day
They came to roll the stone away.