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1814–1902

XIII.

Aubrey De Vere

She stood: she sank not. Slowly fell Adown the Cross the atoning blood. In agony ineffable She offered still His own to God.

No pang of His her bosom spared; She felt in Him its several power. But she in heart His Priesthood shared: She offered Sacrifice that hour.

“Behold thy Son!” Ah, last bequest! It breathed His last farewell! The sword Predicted pierced that hour her breast. She stood: she answered not a word.

His own in John He gave. She wore Thenceforth the Mother-crown of Earth. O Eve! thy sentence too she bore; Like thee in sorrow she brought forth.

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XIII. · Aubrey De Vere · Poetry Cove