It is She
Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising,
fair as the moon, bright as the sun,
terrible as an army set in array?
It is she, most lovely bride,
adorned with grace and Spirit.
She steps with courage,
and desire in her heart—
on her head, red and white roses,
blooms of tears and blood.
They her ardent work of faith,
for a husband long sought,
a union long lost.
Where has your lover gone, most beautiful of women?
Which way did your lover turn, that we may look for him with you?
She runs with longing to
her King, waiting across
the great ocean,
between two columns.
Watchful of dangers,
yet trusting
she walks on water,
and the waves are
frightened, by the sweep of her veil.
How beautiful you are
and how pleasing, O love, with your delights!
Fairest woman,
chaste in conduct, faithful in love,
strong in word, meek in deeds,
you were chosen by the King,
seated on a throne of rock
to shine above all others.
Most wise, most valiant,
you put all harlots to shame.
All sons nurse from you,
after their empires you buried;
princes follow you close,
held captive by your beauty.
Awake, north wind, and come, south wind!
Guided by the Star of Sea,
shielded by truth, commanded by love,
she sails,
angels at her side,
flaming swords light the way.
Her enemies fall around her,
like dry leaves and broken twigs;
she is untouched by death.
O Lady, within you is safety,
outside you only malicious storm;
so keep us tied to you. O Bride, O Mother, O Bark of Peter!
Anna Elissa
26.10.13
