Canticle of Canticles
That radiant brow, reflecting cheerful day! That bosom, which no rebel thought could soil: Whereon, content the Word Incarnate Lay! Those lips and cheeks, where modest graces play: Whose vernal bloom no lunar phrase hath drained, -- t'en for the while, she bore the germ ordained, To heal my soul, and keep it from decay! Those eyes, the mirror of a thoughtful sea In cloudless calm -- except when perfumes pure, Some zephyr wafts from the Elysian field! Ah! thither shall my heart seeurely flee For rest and peace, should fading beauty lure, Till god's Essential Beauty is reveal'd.