Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
Rose Dolores - Poem by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
THE moan of Rose Dolores, she made her plaint to me,
'My hair is lifted by the wind that sweeps in from the sea;
I taste its salt upon my lips--O jailer, set me free!'
'Content thee, Rose Dolores; content thee, child of care!
There's satin shoon upon thy feet and emeralds in thy hair,
And one there is who hungers for thy step upon the stair.'
The moan of Rose Dolores, 'O jailer, set me free!
These satin shoon and green-lit gems are terrible to me;
I hear a murmur on the wind, the murmur of the sea!'
'Bethink thee, Rose Dolores, bethink thee, ere too late!
Thou wert a fisher's child, alack, born to a fisher's fate;
Would'st lay thy beauty 'neath the yoke--would'st be a fisher's mate?'
The moan of Rose Dolores 'Kind jailer, let me go!
There's one who is a fisher--ah! my heart beats cold and slow
Lest he should doubt I love him--I! who love not heaven so!'
'Alas, sweet Rose Dolores, why beat against the bars?
Thy fisher lover drifteth where the sea is full of stars;
Why weep for one who weeps no more?--since grief thy beauty mars!'
The moan of Rose Dolores (she prayed me patiently)
'O jailer, now I know who called from out the calling sea,
I know whose kiss was in the wind--O jailer, set me free!'
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