Sonnet: To the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lady of Heaven, the mother glorified
Of glory, which is Jesus,—He whose death
Us from the gates of Hell delivereth
And our first parents' error sets aside:—
Behold this earthly Love, how his darts glide—
How sharpened—to what fate—throughout this earth!
Pitiful Mother, partner of our birth,
Win these from following where his flight doth guide.
And O, inspire in me that holy love
Which leads the soul back to its origin,
Till of all other love the link do fail.
This water only can this fire reprove,—
Only such cure suffice for suchlike sin;
As nail from out a plank is struck by nail.
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Fra Guittone D'Arezzo
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