Classic Poem

Thy lonely virginal air,
And thy vague eyes,
The carven stillness of thy sorrowful mouth,
And sanctity of thy youth,
Mark thee for no man's prize:
Set thee apart to be fair,
Holy, lovely, and wise.

Being so fair thou art holy
Even as Beatrice is:
Sister-torches of God,
Twin pastures untrod,
Handmaidens meek and lowly,
Consecrate priestesses,
To Heaven dedicate wholly.

Thy face drinketh the light!
Moon-lit, girdled with stars,
Sapphire-gemm'd and adorn'd,
Thou art that lamp which burn'd
From the beginning! The bars
Of Wisdom were overturn'd:
Innocence claim'd her birthright.

In the clear spaces of Heaven
As sisters and lovers sit
Beatrice and Thou embraced,
Hand and hand, waist and waist,
And smile at the worship given
By Earth, and the men in it
To whom you were manifest.

And because I have loved you well,
And because I was born for this
(As the great Tuscan was born
To love and serve Beatrice),
I, who have suffer'd all scorn,
Spend my treasure to tell
All your high worthiness.