Classic Poem

Beneath the moon no heart of flesh
so great a marvel might sustain,
as I, a-gazing on that Burgh,
so wondrous was the form thereof.
I stood as still as dazèd quail,
in wonder of that gladsome sight;
nor rest nor travail felt I then,
so ravish'd by that radiance rare.
For I, with knowledge sure, dare say,
had mortal bodily borne that bliss,
though all our clerks had him in cure,
his life were lost beneath the moon.