In Memory, VI

Whenas I knew not clearly, how to think, Malise! about thee dead: God showed the way. Thine holy soul among soft fires can drink The dew of all the prayers, that I can pray.

Prayers for thy sake shall pierce thy prison gate; Prayers to the Mother of Misericord: Mary, the mighty, the immaculate; Mary, whose soul welcomed the appointed sword.

Malise! thy dear face from my wall looks down: The Crucifix above its beauty lies. Now, while I look and long, I see a crown Bright on thy brow, and heaven within thine eyes,