Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney

Saint Peter-ad-Vincula

Too well I know, pacing the place of awe,
Three queens, young save in trouble, moulder by;
More in his halo, Monmouth’s mocking eye,
The eagle Essex in a harpy’s claw;
Seymour and Dudley, and stout heads that saw
Sundown of Scotland: how with treasons lie
White martyrdoms; rank in a company
Breaker and builder of the eternal law.
Oft as I come, the bitter garden-row
Of ruined roses hanging from the stem,
Where winds of old defeat yet batter them,
Infects me: suddenly must I depart,
Ere thought of men’s injustice then, and now,
Add to these aisles one other broken heart.

1. A Talisman
2. Heathenesse
3. Sherman: “An Horatian Ode”
4. Tryste Noel
5. When on the Marge of Evening

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