Classic Poem

Although life bares the burden of clay,
It tends toward the secret phase of poetry;
But Nature limits its focus, beam
That soul hath covered with ease unseen,
The quality of resemblance' shade
Perfection's orb can but deeply trade;
Belief alone can strongly claim
The vision of transparency, render
Theories through memory, and unfold
The birth that instinct's fancy will
Reign, bring close the fear of reality.
Who hath built the art in Rome
And set the Greek Orient aflame
That bore an archangel across renaissance' memory.