Isabel

Eyes not downdropt nor overbright, but fed

With the clearpointed flame of chastity,

Clear, without heat, undying, tended by

Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane

Of her still spirit: locks not wide dispread,

Madonna-wise on either side her head,

Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign

The summercalm of golden charity,

Were fixéd shadows of thy fixed mood,

Revered Isabel, the crown and head,

The stately flower of female fortitude,

Of perfect wifehood and pure lowlihead.

The intuitive decision of a bright

And thoroughedgéd intellect to part

Error from crime—a prudence to withhold—

The laws of wifehood charactered in gold

Upon the blenched tablets of her heart—

A love still burning upward giving light

To read those laws—an accent very low

In blandishment, but a most silver flow

Of subtlepacéd counsel in distress,

Right to the heart and brain, though undescried,

Winning its way with extreme gentleness

Through all the outworks of suspicious pride—

A courage to endure and to obey—

A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway,

Crowned Isabel, through all her placid life

The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife.

The mellowed reflex of a wintermoon—

A clear stream flowing with a muddy one,

Till in its onward current it absorbs

With swifter movement and in purer light

The vexéd eddies of its wayward brother—

A leaning and upbearing parasite,

Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite,

With clustered flowerbells and ambrosial orbs

Of rich fruitbunches leaning on each other—

Shadow forth thee:—the world hath not another

(Though all her fairest forms are types of thee,

And thou of God in thy great charity),

Of such a finished chastened purity.