Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Jane Eyre

[to Charlotte Bronte]

Dove grey is the unfolding sky
above the lucid dreaming of her soul
shaken awake at midnight
the last one in the household
left to show

there is no love without truth.
and she must leave, she knows.
stern conscience holds her lantern in the rain
and all she sees is God through torrents, through disdain,
through all the villages begging bread

from the living and the dead
from bakers who won’t comprehend
she is the soul’s white flame
and not derelict.
once she was walking down a rigorous road
that ripened into summer's gold
once she was painting ships without a rudder
in a green and icy sea
somehow still at liberty in the austere extravagant imagination-
but not, oh not yet free.

ah now, Lord Jesus, come and see
the frail figure lashed to the landscape
seeking paradise in the wilderness;
in Thee.
mary angela douglas 9 april 2013 rev. 28 march 2017