A Picture

Love, you were dying and one came and drew
The story of your sickness and your pain—
Forlorn you stooped; lover nor loved you knew,
Sucking the salt of sorrow, grain on grain.
You saw my grief for you, thus quite undone
How as at day of judgment you appealed
And sent for an old picture by the sun
As he saw you years ago in a green field—
A vision of your beauty very clear
Of open lip, yet something flashed between
That held and awed and made the face appear
As a shell under water, secret, keen.
O Catholic, sweet face, O gift, O truth
And revelation of thy Spirit's youth.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.