Remember Botticelli's Fortitude In the Uffizi? -- The worn, waiting face; The pale, fine-fibred hands upon the mace; The brow's serenity, the lips that brood, The vigilant, tired patience of her mood? There was a certain likeness I could trace The day I heard her in a country place, Talking to knitting women about Food. Through cool statistics glowed the steady gleam Of that still undismayed, interned desire; But -- strength and stay, and deeper than the dream -- The two commands that she is pledged to keep In the red welter of a world on fire, Are, "What is that to thee?" and "Feed my sheep!" |