Isabel

Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed

      With the clear-pointed 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 summer calm of golden charity.

Were fixed 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 thorough-edged intellect to part

            Error from crime; a prudence to withhold;

            The laws of marriage character'd in gold

      Upon the blanched 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 subtle-paced counsel in distress,

Right to the heart and brain, though undescried,

            Winning its way with extreme gentleness

Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride;

A courage to endure and to obey;

A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway,

Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid life

The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife.

The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon;

A clear stream flowing with a muddy one,

      Till in its onward current it absorbs

            With swifter movement and in purer light

                  The vexed eddies of its wayward brother;

A leaning and upbearing parasite,

      Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite,

With cluster’d flower-bells and ambrosial orbs

            Of rich fruit-bunches 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 finish’d chasten’d purity.