V

See, the large eyes, lit by heaven, Brighter than the Sisters Seven, (Like a star the storm hath cowed) Sink their flash in sorrow's cloud.

There the crystal tear refraineth, And the founts of grief are dry; "Father, Mother--none remaineth; All are dead; and why not I?"

Yet, by God's will, heavenly beauty Owes to Heaven alone its duty; Off ye priests, who dare adjudge Bride, like this, to slime and sludge!