The red heathen faint beneath her skin, she kneels; <br />dark as a pagan brooch the shade around. <br /> <br />Nightbrush, God in a myrtle tree, the wine of wonder <br />- all three my delicate lady. <br /> <br />The bird in her curved eye, grey and lively, rises <br />in troth to bread and the holy goblet. <br /> <br />Beautiful peasant, moon-made and carnadine <br />- both my delicate lady. <br /> <br />Hers the vision inward, substance of love luminous, <br />sun on western fields, the smile of Glastonbury; <br />bird-call, hill-shine, maid of St Bride for all <br />- all my delicate lady.<br /><br />Eric Ratcliffe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lady-kneeling-for-holy-communion/
