DEAD MAGDALEN

Cover her over with pallid white roses,

Her who had none but red roses to wear;

All that her last grim lover bestows is

Virginal white for her bosom and hair.

Cover the folds of the glimmering sheet

Clear from her eyelids weary and sweet

Down to her nevermore wayward feet.

Then They may find her fair.

Lovingly, tenderly, let us array her

Fair as a bride for the way she must go,

Leaving no lingering stain to betray her,

Letting them see we have sullied her so.

Over the curve of the fair young breast

Leave we this maidenly lily to rest

White as the snow in its snow-soft nest.

Now They will never know.