Classic Poem

HE TURNS TO FLIGHT, BUT PASSION PURSUES

When my whole soul is turned toward that part
Where sheds Madonna's face a shadow of light,
Light for a shadow, and in my thought that light,
Which burns me and consumes in every part,
I, sore adread lest from my heart it part
Seeing at hand the end of this my light,
Go as a blind man goes, deprived of light,
Ignorant where to go, whence to depart.
So from before the strokes of striding Death
I run, I run, but not so swift Desire
Ceases to follow, as is his wont, alone.
Silent I go: because the words of death
Would move the world to tears; and I desire
That all tears should be mine and mine alone.