Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/57

Cursed be he; did he kiss, then, tress by tress,
And so beneath the hiding glory seek
Those smiling lips, that only spoke to bless
All I did curse, in accents low and meek.

Fate has such ways of laying plan and plot.
And heart to heart that are not over wise,
Why did you choose a braggart and a sot
From those who loved you, held you as a prize?

Did my deep curses fall? For stricken he
Found death's black gate, and waited while you prayed
All the great saints of Heaven kind to be.
Thus bargained for his life, all undismayed.

As once beside a wayside shrine I hid
And saw you coming, trembled at your tear,
I read your anguish 'neath each swollen lid.
So raised from eyes that could not hide their fear.

There, from her niche, the Virgin, gazing down.
Appeared to watch you as you loosed your hair.
And oh the glory of that red and brown.
All the fair sunlight seemed entangled there!

“Sweet Mother, for his life I, tress for tress.
Shall cut this beauty which God gave to me.
Wilt thou my pleading hearken to and bless.
And pray thy Son to grant this boon to me.”

You raised your eyes expectant, and I, too,
Gazed at the carven face until it seemed
The figure smiled, and then it forward threw
Its head to bowing, this—unless I dreamed.

But, Marie, lock by lock you flung your hair
Upon the knife that seemed to pierce my heart,
At each slow-parting strand I cried “Beware,”
And looked for blood upon the tress apart.