Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 89

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LXXXIX AFFECTION
The earth that made the rose,She also is thy mother, and not I.The flame wherewith thy maiden spirit glowsWas lighted at no hearth that I sit by.I am as far below as heaven above thee.Were I thine angel, more I could not love thee.
Bid me defend thee!Thy danger over-human strength shall lend me,A hand of iron and a heart of steel,To strike, to wound, to slay, and not to feel.But if you chide me,I am a weak, defenceless child beside thee.
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