Classic Poem

They brought thy body back to me quite dead,
Just as thou hadst been stricken in the brawl.
I let no tear, I let no curses fall,
But signed to them to lay thee on the bed;

Then, with clenched teeth, I stripped thy clothes soaked red;
And taking up my pencil at God's call,
All through the night I drew thy muscles all,
And writhed at every beauty of thy head;

For I required the glory of thy limbs
To lend it to archangel and to saint,
And of thy brow, for brows with halo rims;

And thou shalt stand, in groups which I shall paint
Upon God's walls, till, like procession hymns
Lost in the distance, ages make them faint.