XIX

     Those old Martyrs sloughed their pride,
     Taking humbleness like mirth. 
     I am to His Glory tied,
     I that witness Him on earth! 
     Red of heat, my pride of dust,
     White of heat, feeds fire in trust.

     XX

     Kindle me to constant fire,
     Lest the nail be but a nail! 
     Give me wings of great desire,
     Lest I look within, and fail! 
     Red of heat, the furnace light,
     White of heat, fix on my sight.

     XXI

     Never for the Chosen peace! 
     Know, by me tormented know,
     Never shall the wrestling cease
     Till with our outlasting Foe,
     Red of heat to white of heat,
     Roll we to the Godhead’s feet! 
     Beat, beat! white of heat,
     Red of heat, beat, beat!

     A preaching from A Spanish ballad

     I

     Ladies who in chains of wedlock
     Chafe at an unequal yoke,
     Not to nightingales give hearing;
     Better this, the raven’s croak.

     II

     Down the Prado strolled my seigneur,
     Arm at lordly bow on hip,
     Fingers trimming his moustachios,
     Eyes for pirate fellowship.

     III

     Home sat she that owned him master;
     Like the flower bent to ground
     Rain-surcharged and sun-forsaken;
     Heedless of her hair unbound.

     IV

     Sudden at her feet a lover
     Palpitating knelt and wooed;
     Seemed a very gift from heaven
     To the starved of common food.

     V

     Love me? she his vows repeated: 
     Fiery vows oft sung and thrummed: 
     Wondered, as on earth a stranger;
     Thirsted, trusted, and succumbed.

     VI

     O beloved youth! my lover! 
     Mine! my lover! take my life
     Wholly:  thine in soul and body,
     By this oath of more than wife!

     VII

     Know me for no helpless woman;
     Nay, nor coward, though I sink
     Awed beside thee, like an infant
     Learning shame ere it can think.

     VIII

     Swing me hence to do thee service,
     Be thy succour, prove thy shield;
     Heaven will hear!—­in house thy handmaid,
     Squire upon the battlefield.

     IX

     At my breasts I cool thy footsoles;
     Wine I pour, I dress thy meats;
     Humbly, when my lord it pleaseth,
     Lie with him on perfumed sheets: 

     X

     Pray for him, my blood’s dear fountain,
     While he sleeps, and watch his yawn
     In that wakening babelike moment,
     Sweeter to my thought than dawn! —

     XI

     Thundered then her lord of thunders;
     Burst the door, and, flashing sword,
     Loud disgorged the woman’s title: 
     Condemnation in one word.