Christina Rossetti

Dec 5, 1830 - Dec 29, 1894

 

Maude Clare

by Christina Rossetti

Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid;
Maude Clare was like a queen.

Son Thomas, his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years;

Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell.

My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.

Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
Have brought my gift,
she said:
To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.

Here's my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:

Here's my half of the faded leaves
We plucked from budding bough,
With feet amongst the lily leaves, --
The lilies are budding now.

He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place:
Lady, he said, -- Maude Clare, he said, --
Maude Clare: -- and hid his face.

She turn'd to Nell: My Lady Nell,
I have a gift for you;
Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone,
Or, were it flowers, the dew.

Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.

And what you leave, said Nell, I'll take,
And what you spurn, I'll wear;
For he's my lord for better and worse,
And him I love, Maude Clare.

Yea, though you're taller by the head,
More wise, and much more fair
I'll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all, Maude Clare.

Source:

Goblin Market and Other Poems
Copyright 1865
Macmillan And Co.London and Cambridge
 
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