The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (8.1896)

Two Sonnets

By Maurice Baring

I
*T*) ECAUSE she listened to the quiring spheres
D We thought she did not hear our homely strings;
Stars diademed her hair in misty rings,
Too late we understood those stars were tears.

Without she was a temple pure as snow,
Within were piteous flames of sacrifice ;
And underneath the dazzling mask of ice
A heart of swiftest fire was dying slow.

She in herself, as lonely lilies fold
Stiff silver petals over secret gold,
Shielded her passion, and remained afar
From pity :—Cast red roses on the pyre !
She that was snow shall rise to Heaven as fire
In the still glory of the morning star.

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