I
I behold in my
heart her supernal beauty which no eye could show nor tongue attest…
though veiled in silence, modestly there in luminous shadow, her simple
pose emits a sound...
like a budding rose, red and flush, her radiant cheeks give tepid hearts a
vivid blush…
familiar now with the virgin's tale, she need not speak but simply
smile,
and in this manner her love so fills my memory’s sail...
like copious cherubs about her throne, a crown
of lilies encompass her gown with greeting echoes like Ave and
Hail...
II
Right by the Sun, she cares not t'eclipse or flee its
'fulgent rays,
though sits like the Moon, still on a starry stage, and endows her virginal
gaze...
yes, even the brilliant seraphs bow to the billows of light
where she is, as they warm their wings in a flutter of whispering
faces...
but the serene little maiden whispers more softly than they,
and is heard like a trumpet of graces...
for 'tis often her joy to mimic the choir with embellishing
beauty,
again and again, yet more and more perfecting praises:
“Here I stand and still I sing: I am the handmaid of the Sun,
And through the power of his Light, my word is his, thy will be
done…”
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