Classic Poem

Sweet, and milky soft, and pious, Sevillian,
You painted out your truth, your faith.
You saw her enskied and sainted—
Your little Spanish Virgin Mary Immaculate—
Saw her floating in clouds,
blue-robed and cherub-guarded,
Her melting eyes turned heavenward
and her foot on the crescent moon.
Religion was easy—who could help believing?
It was easy to paint saints and angels
And pretty little Infant Christs—