God, Beauty and the
Woman | Spirit Human
What is this beautiful woman,
The laughing of whose eye
Is in man's heart renewed virginity:
Whose sick longing breeds
For connection which exceeds
The inventive guess of Love to satisfy
With hope of utter binding, and of loosing endless dear despair?
What gleams about her shine,
More transient than delight and more divine!
If she does something but a little sweet,
As gaze towards the glass to set her hair,
See how his soul falls humbled at her feet!
Her gentle step, to go or come,
Gains her more merit than a martyrdom;
And, if she dance, it doth such grace confer
The heaven of heavens to more than her,
And makes a rival of her worshiper.
To die unknown for her were little cost!
So is she without guile,
Her mere refused smile
Makes up the sum of that which may be lost!
Who is this Beauty
Whom each has seen,
The darkest once in this spiritual realm
Be he not destined for the punishment of hell?
Whom each hath seen
And known, with sharp remorse and sweet, as Queen
And tear-glad Mistress of his hopes of bliss,
Too beautiful for man to kiss?
Who is this only happy woman,
Whom, by a frantic flight of courtesy,
Born of despair
Of better lodging for his Spirit Beauty,
He adores as unspeakable,
And what this sigh,
That each one heaves for Earth's last dispair
And the Heaven high
Ineffably locked in dateless bridal-bed?
Are all, then, mad, or is it prophecy?
'Sons now we are of God,' as we have heard,
'But what we shall be hath not yet appeared
O, Heart, remember you,
That Man is none, Save One.
What if this Lady be your Soul, and He
Who claims to enjoy her sacred beauty be,
Not you, but God; and your sick fire
A female vanity,
Such as a Bride, viewing her mirrored charms,
Feels when she sighs, 'All these are for his arms!'
A reflex heat
Flashed on your cheek from His immense desire,
Which waits to crown, beyond your brain's conceit,
Thy nameless, secret, hopeless longing sweet,
Not by-and-by, but now,
Unless you deny Him...
