The poem
WHEN for love it was fain of The wild heart was chidden, When the white limbs were clothed And the beauty was hidden;
For the scorn that was done to The least of her graces, The Mother veiled over And hid from our faces
The high soul of nature, The deep and the wonder, Her towers up in heaven, And the fairyland under.
The Mother then whispered, “The wrong done by thee To the least limb of beauty Was done unto me.”