LIEGEWOMAN

You may not wear immortal leaves

Nor yet go laurelled in your days,

But he believes

Who loves you with most intimate praise

That none on earth has ever gone,

In whom a cleanlier spirit shone.

You may be unremembered when

Our chronicles are piled in dust:

No matter than —

None ever bore a lordlier lust

To know the savour sweet or sour

Down to the dregs of every hour.

And this your epitaph shall be —

“Within life’ s house her eager words

Continually

Lightened as wings of arrowy birds:

She was life’ s house-fellow, she knew

The passion of him, soul and thew.”