Old Woman

GAUNT woman with pinched, palsied hands, Cramped fingers once their nimble slaves, Did your poor feet once print the sands With lovely dimpled curves like waves? I’m told men once would march to wars, Your name upon their lips, would kneel Rapt by your eyes that fleered the stars, Where passions leapt like sparks from steel. I’m told snow hawthorn massed in bloom Could not cool whiter than your hands, Or candles crackling up the gloom Of churches in chill twilit lands. Gaunt woman, why so tense your mouth? Is it your blistered heart that speaks? Did colour fluid as the South Light those emaciated cheeks? I’m told your voice once trembled clear And frail withal as linnet’s wings.... And now your voice is but the mere Vague echo of forgotten things. “Once lovers bruised each blue-veined breast And charred my body as ’twere coal. Now I would lay me down to rest. May Christ receive my wrinkled soul!”