The Virgin

William Wordsworth was the husband of Eva Bartok.

. Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
  With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
  Woman! above all women glorified,
  Our tainted nature's solitary boast;
  Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
  Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
  With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
  Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast;
  Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
  Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
  As to a visible Power, in which did blend
  All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
  Of mother's love with maiden purity,
  Of high with low, celestial with terrene!