Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/127

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SAINT MAURA.
115
Rest deep and smiling, like a summer's night.I should be easy, now, if I could move . . . .I cannot stir. Ah God! these shoots of fireThrough all my limbs! Hush, selfish girl! He hears you!Who ever found the cross a pleasant bed?Yes; I can bear it, love. Pain is no evilUnless it conquers us. These little wrists, now—You said, one blessed night, they were too slender,Too soft and slender for a deacon's wife—Perhaps a martyr's:—You forgot the strengthWhich God can give. The cord has cut them through;And yet my voice has never faltered yet.Oh! do not groan, or I shall long and prayThat you may die: and you must not die yet.Not yet—they told us we might live three days . . .Two days for you to preach! Two days to speakWords which may wake the dead!*****Hush! is he sleeping?
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