Dedicatory Poem
to
the Princess Alice.
Dead Princess, living Power, if that, which lived1
True life, live on—and if the fatal kiss,2
Born of true life and love, divorce thee not3
From earthly love and life—if what we call4
The spirit flash not all at once from out5
This shadow into Substance—then perhaps6
The mellow’d murmur of the people’s praise7
From thine own State, and all our breadth of realm,8
Where Love and Longing dress thy deeds in light,9
Ascends to thee ; and this March morn that sees10
Thy Soldier-brother’s bridal orange-bloom11
Break thro’ the yews and cypress of they grave,12
And thine Imperial mother smile again,13
May send one ray to thee ! and who can tell—14
Thou—England’s England-loving daughter—thou15
Dying so English thou wouldst have her flag16
Borne on they coffin—where is he can swear17
But that some broken gleam from our poor earth18
May touch thee, while remembering thee, I lay19
At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds20
Of England, and her banner in the East ?21