SHE, pacing down the vineyard walks, Put back the branches, one by one, Stripped the dry foliage from the stalks, And gave their bunches to the sun. On fairer hillsides, looking south, The vines were brown with cankerous rust, The earth was hot with summer drouth, And all the grapes were dim with dust. Yet here some blessed influence rained From kinder skies, the season through; On every bunch the bloom remained, And every leaf was washed in dew. I saw her blue eyes, clear and calm; I saw the aureole of her hair; I heard her chant some unknown psalm, In triumph half, and half in prayer. "Hail, maiden of the vines!" I cried: "Hail, Oread of the purple hill! For vineyard fauns too fair a bride, For me thy cup of welcome fill! "Unlatch the wicket; let me in, And, sharing, make thy toil more dear: No riper vintage holds the bin Than that our feet shall trample here. "Beneath thy beauty's light I glow, As in the sun those grapes of thine: Touch thou my heart with love, and lo! The foaming must is turned to wine!" She, pausing, stayed her careful task, And, lifting eyes of steady ray, Blew, as a wind the mountain's mask Of mist, my cloudy words away. No troubled flush o'erran her cheek; But when her quiet lips did stir, My heart knelt down to hear her speak And mine the blush I sought in her. "Oh, not for me," she said, "the vow So lightly breathed, to break erelong The vintage-garland on the brow; The revels of the dancing throng! "To maiden love I shut my heart, Yet none the less a stainless bride; I work alone, I dwell apart, Because my work is sanctified. "A virgin hand must tend the vine, By virgin feet the vat be trod, Whose consecrated gush of wine Becomes the blessed blood of God! "No sinful purple here shall stain, Nor juice profane these grapes afford But reverent lips their sweetness drain Around the Table of the Lord. "The cup I fill, of chaster gold, Upon the lighted altar stands; There, when the gates of heaven unfold, The priest exalts it in his hands. "The censer yields adoring breath, The awful anthem sinks and dies, While God, who suffered life and death, Renews His ancient sacrifice. "O sacred garden of the vine! And blessed she, ordained to press God's chosen vintage, for the wine Of pardon and of holiness!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DUNES OF INDIANA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SECOND OPINION by STEPHEN CUSHMAN TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER by BEN JONSON THE BRAES OF YARROW by JOHN LOGAN (1748-1788) A CANADIAN BOAT SONG; WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE by THOMAS MOORE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 21. REQUIEM by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): EROS AND HIS MOTHER by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |