Page:Poems Jackson.djvu/332

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236
POEMS.
Within the hated palace-wall;
By all despised, and shunned by all,
Lonely and broken-hearted, she
Weeps day and night in misery.
And day and night one picture haunts
Her weary brain, her sorrow taunts,—
Picture of Buddha's fairest fields,
Where every hour new transport yields,
And where the lover whom she slew,
Loyal at last, and glad and true,
In full Elysium's perfect rest,
Walks with the one who loved him best!
It haunts me morn, and night, and noon:
This story of the woman, Boon,—
Haunts me like restless ghost, that says,—
"Oh, where is love in these sad days!
Rise up, and in my might and name
Plead for the altar and the flame."
I am unworthy: master hands
Should strike the chords, and fill the lands
From sea to sea with melody
Of such transcendent harmony
That it all jubilant might tell
How love must love, if love loves well.
Yet, telling all, and flooding lands
With melody, the master hands
Could strike no deeper chord than I,
When from a woman's heart I cry,—
"O martyred Boon, of peerless fame,
Incarnate in thy life, Love came!"