Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE BEGS A CRUMB OF HER NEW BLESSEDNESS

Thou hast shown thine utmost, letting darkness pour,
O Demon Death, through Love's realm like a blot,
Lopping the lovely blossom of bergamot,
Quenching the light, locking the narrow door,
With what a hunger Death must hunger for
The qualities corruption touches not:
Her courage and her courtesy and what
Is else beyond that lean Inquisitor.
Gorged upon dust and bones, he burns with greed
For Heaven's half of her that like a sun
Dazzles the seraph and brings the angels near.
O loveliest novice, God's new-kerchiefed nun,
A beggar at the feast grows faint! O feed
Me, miserable and human — O my dear!