Grey

LADY of Sorrow! What though laughing blue,
 Thy sister, mock men’s anguish, and the sun
 Glare like a wrathful judge on many a one
That longs for night his bitter shame to rue,
Yet dost thou grant thy mercy of mist and dew
 And cloud and calm ere angry day be done,
 Weaving over the vault the weary shun
Thy veil of peace, with pity trembling through.
 
When all light loves and all brave hues are flown,
 When beaten hope falls from the reeling fight,
  And life is lone upon her desolate way,
 And noon is fierce, and no men see aright,
Then weary eyes turn unto thee, their own,
 Lady of Grief, the soul’s madonna, Grey.
 
II

Yet not in sorrow only art thou fair,
 For joy may know and love thee in the pall
 Of spray that slumbers on the waterfall,
Or in low cottage-smoke in evening air
Or in brave stone carven in glory rare,
 Or when the tender mists of Autumn fall
 Dappling the mead with beauty, and the tall
Stark dreaming oaks thine ancient livery wear.
 
Yet none hath known thy loveliness aright
 Save him who gazing in his lady’s eyes
Sees dim lists tossing with plumes of many a knight
  And woods where elfin waters gleam and glance,
  And all the vision and faith of old romance
 And the great dream of youth that never dies.

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"Grey" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 25 Jun 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/3778/grey>.

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