MOTHER whose womb brought forth our man of men, <br />Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims <br />Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames, <br />Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then, <br />Was it thy son’s young passion-guided pen <br />Which drew, reflected from encircling flames, <br />A figure marked by the earlier of thy names <br />Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen <br />Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great, <br />Great in her grief and sin, but in her death <br />And anguish of her penitential breath <br />Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate, <br />She stands, the holocaust of dark desire, <br />Clothed round with song for ever as with fire.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anonymous-plays-xvi-arden-of-feversham/
