  Mary Magdalene has looked out of her window, High in her cottage at Horeham Road; From her high window has Mary looked down, And seen all the doings and sights of the town: The boys look up as they pass her abode— The boys look up, but the girls look down. Mary Magdalene has caught sight of the Preacher— The Preacher Who’s come from the town in the west; She hears Him preaching out there on the Green: His words have troubled her heart—she has seen His face, and the sobs are all thick in her breast, And her tears are the saltest that ever were seen. From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a preaching, such a teaching for Mary Magdalene? A boy calls up to her there at the window: “Come down, my sweet, for the night is here, And the stars are dim in the mists above, And the darkening field is the place for love— Come down, my lovely, come down, my dear, And show me beauty and give me love.” And the dusk is white on her tear-stained face, For the Preacher has broken her heart, and it turns To the Word that freezes, the Word that burns, The Word that is Flesh in the market-place, Where the Preacher’s voice through the silence burns. From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a turning, such a burning for Mary Magdalene? Mary Magdalene has gone down to the Preacher— The strange Young Man from the western town: With silk she is shining, with scent she is sweet, Her eyes are like water, like flowers are her feet, And when she has come to the Green she falls down Before the Young Preacher and kisses His feet. She kisses His feet and she cries out for pardon, With tears and with kisses His feet are all wet; The boys are all staring and no word is said, For she wipes His wet feet with the hair of her head— Her lovely brown hair that no boy can forget, It is like a brown beech-wood, the hair of her head. From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a sighing, such a crying for Mary Magdalene? And the boys are all laughing to see them stand so: “Ah, lovely, and have you forgotten so soon The ways of a woman, the ways of the moon, And all the gay gallants with whom you would go And show them the madness that’s under the moon?” The Preacher has brought Magdalene to His mother, And His mother has given her a white gown to wear, And they’ve sat down to supper together all three, And the boys stand outside in the street and agree That the joke’s gone too far—“Come out, Mary, my dear, For you and these strangers will never agree.” But Mary Magdalene has looked out of the window— She stands in the window all white and alone— “I will never return while the stars are above To the ways that were far from the true ways of love. Oh, many a lover poor Mary has known, But never till now has she learned to know love.” From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a story, such a glory for Mary Magdalene?
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